


when the blazing sun is gone, then you show your little light

by donutworry



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Genderbending, LOTS OF POTENTIAL TRIGGERS PLEASE SEE NOTES BEFORE READING, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Triggers, three years fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutworry/pseuds/donutworry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boxer wonders if Vegeta used to conquer planets the same way she conquered him; consuming everything and filling the void with herself.</p><p>-AU where Bulma is a boy and Vegeta is a girl and their lives remain the same-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. {PART I : Fecundate}

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Disclaimed. I don’t own DBZ nor do I profit from this fic. Title is taken from the Jane Taylor poem “The Star”.
> 
> I really wanted to read a genderbent VB. I like the idea of exploring the dynamic of a cis-female Vegeta, but I couldn’t find one I liked, that delved into how the Saiyan princess reacted to virtually the same life as the prince. And since I adore Trunks, I genderbent Bulma too and thus came Boxer (humans tend to assign gender to names, but I don’t think Saiyans did the same). I explored some other thoughts and aspects concerning this change as well, and hopefully it explains how a girl Vegeta and a boy Bulma would still fit in an unchanged DBZ world. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Major adult themes and STRONG potential triggers. Genderbent major characters. Non-violent rape/non-con/dub-con. Repressed sexuality, erotophobia and tokophobia. Consensual loooove-making with slight BDSM tones to balance that out. Self harm/mutilation. Gay relationship with sex. Open relationship, threesomes, emotional and physical infidelity. Slight domestic abuse. Unwanted pregnancy. Mentions of abortion and attempted abortion. Recreational drug use and mentions of forced drug use on children. Child soldiers and mentions of sexual molestation and abuse of said children. Brain-washing and manipulation. Modernized canon.

 

Yamcha, Boxer decides, can be a fucking cunt.

 

It starts off as an offhand comment, kind of a joke. It’s definitely not supposed to be taken as badly as it is and it certainly wasn’t supposed to snowball into the shitstorm that it did. But if Boxer was going to be completely honest, it was also probably a long time coming.

 

This wasn’t a case of sudden realization, an epiphany of how thirsty he was for Vegeta. He didn’t look up one day and become unexpectedly enlightened by how absolutely breathtaking he found his housemate. No, Boxer knew well before he invited Vegeta in as a guest that he thought she was a delicious fucking feast for the eyes, knew back on Namek when she terrorized the wits out of him.

 

Unfortunately, Yamcha knew it too and had been passive-aggressive about the one-sided attraction. Boxer often found himself overcome with headaches as he defended his choices concerning Vegeta to his boyfriend.

 

_She’s a murdering psychopath, Boxer!_

 

_Why are you building her even more shit, Boxer? She’s going to kill us if she becomes stronger than Goku again!_

 

_Are you out of your mind?! Why the hell are you trying so hard to keep that crazy bitch happy?_

 

And so on and so forth the whining had ensued. Boxer isn’t completely unaware of Yamcha’s predicament or why he feels so passionately on the subject. He knows, even with the odd dynamic of their relationship, that watching your significant other fawn over a bad crush, a crush who lived with them, would be tough for anyone. Even more so when your significant other payed more attention to said crush than you.

 

Boxer would cringe if he weren’t so pissed off. He understands completely where Yamcha is coming from, but now he’s wishing he kept the semi-serious joke about a threesome with his extraterrestrial guest to himself. Even if the concept wasn’t new to their relationship, it was another beast altogether to mention Vegeta in that context, especially considering the couple’s differing stances on the woman.

 

But right now, the fight with Yamcha is consuming him, and even though it is his fault, he’s starting to not care. He’s more than done with the other man’s petty jealousy and insecurity, tired of fending off accusations and questions of his sanity. Yamcha is going in far with the bullshit and as his ire builds, Boxer braces himself for a long night.

 

“You know what, Yamcha? It’s time to set some fucking things straight.”

 

* * *

 

Boxer is in a foul mood the next morning and in desperate need of coffee when he makes his way down to the kitchen. He tries not to think about his argument with Yamcha or his now suddenly clear afternoon schedule or anything Yamcha related at all really. He nearly succeeds until Vegeta saunters into the kitchen, skin tight shorts and sports bra doing nothing to hide the reason why Yamcha is currently spurning him.

 

The Saiyan goes about her business, ignoring him as she’s prone to do when she isn’t screaming orders at him. The towel around her neck did little to help dry her soaked clothes - how long had she been up for? Boxer lets his gaze wander over the woman before turning away. He sips his coffee, eyes closed, and reluctantly recalls his fight with Yamcha.

 

He knows his relationship can be described as unconventional at best, has been described as disgusting and unnatural at worst. While the world sees two eligible, handsome young men engaging in perversions together, he knows that he and Yamcha genuinely love each other, no matter how uneasy their relationship may seem. But it was Boxer’s offhand suggestion to invite Vegeta to join their revelry that drove a wedge into the steadily growing gap between the boyfriends. Why, out of all the things he had done and allowed, did that make him the pervert and the unfaithful one?

 

Okay, Boxer could admit that he was often less than sensitive about Yamcha’s unease around Vegeta. But for one, it wasn’t even Vegeta that killed Yamcha during the initial invasion and for two, it was hilariously sad that an athletic male over six feet tall was deathly terrified of a waifish woman barely breaking five feet (It didn’t matter Boxer also fit that description. At least he could talk to her). Besides with no guarantee that Vegeta wouldn’t ridicule or outright kill them for asking, he thought Yamcha would recognize that he wasn’t being serious.

 

He supposes it could have been a reaction born from insecurity. Boxer is aware that he isn’t exactly straight, his long-term relationship being a testament to that, but he’s still acutely aware of his strong attraction to women. And Vegeta, Boxer thinks as he peeks at the woman pulling out the ingredients to create a pb-and-j sandwich, is one very attractive woman.

 

He finds himself comparing Vegeta’s body to that of Chikyuu women, both fascinated and amused by how different the similarities are. Vegeta’s body is small and slender - Boxer knows his mother had shopped exclusively in women’s petite boutiques to find clothes that would even fit Vegeta. If it weren’t for the firmness of the body showcased by the the woman’s preferred clothing, she wouldn’t have seemed intimidating at all. However, Vegeta’s curves aren’t gently curving slopes, but rather sharp divots, like an Olympian gymnast. Her hourglass figure is the result of hard work, waist tiny from tight abs compressing organs and ass rotund with conditioned glutes rather than globular, jiggly fat.

 

Even her limbs, slender as they were, were hard like fluid steel. She didn’t pack on mass like Goku or the other male Saiyans he saw, but rather it seemed her muscle fibers became more corded with flexible strength. She’s small but compact. Dense. She had high, perky breasts too; they were slightly more than a handful, but definitely more than what he would have expected on a woman with such low body fat. He wonders not for the first time about Saiyan biology, what the hell it was that made their bodies so incredible.

 

He sighs to himself and drains his mug. So maybe Yamcha had a point. Maybe he did, just a little bit desire Vegeta beyond the point of sexual gratification. Boxer _was_ unusually accommodating (especially for him) to the rude woman, and his thoughts were oftentimes more than preoccupied with her. But that was still no reason for Yamcha to be such an ass! Vegeta was hot, and Boxer knew if it weren’t for Yamcha’s conviction that Vegeta was the cause of his death, that _he_ would have been the one to propose integrating the alien into their bedroom activities, not Boxer. Yamcha, as far as Boxer was concerned, was a fucking hypocrite.

 

Something hard strikes him in the shoulder just as his thoughts turned angry again. With a grunt, he looks up in time to see an orange disappear under the kitchen island. Retracing the orange’s trajectory, he catches Vegeta’s dark-eyed glare.

 

“Are you deaf and dumb now?” she sneers.

 

“What?” he frowns at her.

 

The alien rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. A knife covered in peanut butter is carelessly hung from her left hand. Her short regrowing tail curls tightly around her upper thigh and Boxer idly ponders what may have her feeling uneasy as she snarks at him.

 

“I said, I want you to repair the gravity chamber for space flight by the end of the week. I have business to attend to for a few days.”

 

The engineer blinks at her. She had to be fucking joking. But her stance and haughty do-as-I-say-peasant expression prove otherwise. Irritation builds within Boxer.

 

“Excuse me? I just finished rebuilding it, _from scratch,_ after you blew the damn thing up, Princess,” he snarls. “What the fuck do you need to do?”

 

Vegeta scoffs and and looks back to the peanut butter and jelly tower she’s currently constructing.

 

“Just do it. Your opinions on the matter won’t get the task done,” she dismisses.

 

It’s now Boxer’s turn to throw fruit and to his mounting annoyance the alien catches it one-handed without so much as a glance up. Her smug smirk before she bites into the apple is his breaking point.

 

“You bitch!” he snarls. “You can’t just order me about in my own fucking house! The very least you could do is tell me why. What urgent ‘business’ do you have that you can’t even provide a week’s notice?”

 

He feels fleeting victory when her smug expression is replaced by a scowl.

 

“It’s none of you concern. Just do it before I -”

 

“What? Kill me? Do it. Goku’s back now, I doubt he’d appreciate you offing his oldest friend.”

 

Boxer knows he should probably drop the issue soon, before Vegeta loses her patience. He knows she’s not an average person whom he could cower with his temper and his intellect and the worst parts of his personality but. Fuck. Her. He will very well jab at her weak spots, despite how guilty it made him feel, when she disregarded his existence to little more than a repairman. He ran a several multi-billion dollar ventures and had one of the highest IQs on the planet! He was not a fucking repairman! Besides that, she was _his guest_. He went out of his way to make sure she had a safe haven on this planet, especially when most of his friends were happy to leave her stranded. She could show a little thanks!

 

Vegeta tenses up so slightly at his words that he might’ve missed it if he wasn’t so focused on glaring at her. She slowly places down the soiled butter knife and looks up at him. Boxer feels like a gladiator in the pit, standing in anticipation before the lifted gate and waiting for the hungry lion to pounce on him. Still, he refuses to be cowed and holds the woman’s gaze as she catches his eyes.

 

“If you don’t,” she says, and her voice is quiet and even and sending chills down his back. “I will ask your father. And if he refuses, even hesitates for a moment at the request, I will kill him, slowly, and leave the mangled corpse for you.”

 

Vegeta smiles at him then, the kind of charming, captivating smile all beautiful girls have, before she pushes away from the counter. Taking her gigantic sandwich, the woman leaves the kitchen, a dirty knife and a half eaten apple the only reminders of her presence.

 

* * *

 

That night, Boxer is still seething, even as he begins to look over what he can do for flight repairs. He isn’t deluded enough to think that he alone could finish the repairs in time to meet Vegeta’s deadline. Genius, sadly enough, could not make up for manpower. Still, despite having giving in to Vegeta’s whim, it wasn’t out of fear - he didn’t think Vegeta would carry out her threat. At least, he hoped she wouldn’t.

 

Boxer had contemplated ignoring Vegeta’s order just to spite her, but then he recalled the way her half regrown tail had tightened around her thigh, how he somehow just knew that something about her request was really urgent. He knew from casual (or not so casual as Yamcha would argue) observation that Vegeta tended to retract her extremities under duress. Like it was a guarding mechanism. The fun of spiting her lost its appeal when he thought of that.

 

So Boxer, once again, decided to slave away, for unknown reasons, to meet the gargantuan needs of this tiny girl.

 

About an hour or so before dawn, when he was rerouting a circuit board for the cooling system while his computer ran diagnostics, a shiver crawled up his neck. He got the distinct feeling of being watched. The young scientist turned off his hand sauter and removed his goggles, looking at the door as he did so. He hadn’t heard it open. Scanning the area behind him, and finding it bare of any presence, the man turned back around. And promptly jerked back, eyes wide.

 

“Boo,” Vegeta muttered, peeling a banana. “What are you doing in here?”

 

“What am I - ? Are you serious? I’m starting on the repairs _you_ so kindly asked me to do.”

 

“Ah,” the warrior finished eating her banana and began peeling another from the bunch she apparently brought with her.

 

“You’ll be done by the end of the week?” she questions. Despite her less than genteel nature, the question was soft. She starts in on yet another banana, but leaves the bunch between them this time. Boxer recognizes the silent invitation and takes one, wanting to encourage her generosity. If her mood was as good as it seemed, maybe she would take his negative answer better.

 

“Yeah, about that,” Boxer starts, watching her and parrying dark eyes when they pierced him. Soft spot or no, she wouldn’t bully him.

 

“It’s just not possible, Vegeta. The time frame is too small - even if I worked around the clock with no breaks, I couldn’t do it. I’ll need at least another full,” he emphasizes the word, “week to have everything up and running. Even then I’d have my concerns.”

 

A growl rips from her chest and goes, although Boxer would never admit it, straight to his cock. In a flash, the banana in his hand is gone and he quickly swallows what’s left hanging outside of his mouth before she snatches that too. Childish. His eyebrows raise as he glances over her. Vegeta’s tail whips furiously for a moment before she notices his preoccupation and it immediately curls around her thigh. It’s about three or four centimeters longer than it was yesterday, growing much faster now than before and Boxer files the observation away to be looked over later.

 

“You will complete the task!” she hisses.

 

“Vege-”

 

“You will!”

 

“I can’t” he snaps. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s had an argument two days in a row, he’ll be damned if he adds another.

 

“Vegeta,” he starts. “I thought we were friends - I thought we were past this phase. I don’t mind doing this for you, but can’t you give me a reason? Why the urgency?”

 

Silence answers and he peeks at her through his lashes. She’s frowning at him, stolen banana squished in an angry fist. At least she’s not hitting him or trying to choke him like she used to do. His shoulder twinges with the phantom ache of being thrust onto walls.

 

Boxer watches her as she rises. “Fucking useless,” she utters and stalks off. Indignant, Boxer jumps after her. He reaches for her, but she bats his hands away and leaps into the sky as soon as she’s passed the ship’s threshold.

 

Boxer gazes after Vegeta as she disappears into the clouds, his own blood still at a roiling boil.

 

“Frickin’ jackass!” he shouts and stomps off to his lab.

 

* * *

 

He decides to work on his pet project to cool down. He does his best to avoid thinking of Vegeta or Yamcha while he’s welding steel beams to reinforce the framework of the room he’s designing. When he fails, he focuses his thoughts on his house guest, not ready to deal with the sour implications of not being contacted by Yamcha for more than a day.

 

When the alien princess had first arrived, she was sulky and withdrawn. She did little to make contact with her hosts, only relaying information when she had no other choice, accepting only food without the usual mistrust, and altogether ignoring any inquiries or attempts at conversation. Vegeta only really acknowledged the Briefs after she returned from her her search for Goku. When the Super Saiyan boy from the future revealed the news about the androids, that had catalyzed Vegeta’s willingness to address him specifically. After that it was “Do this” or “That needs repairs” or “You can refuse, but you won’t be the one to pay for it.”

 

Those few months had been even worse than her initial stay. Vegeta’s mood had plummeted, probably annoyed at having to compete with another Super Saiyan. Boxer, even when trying his best, had never been patient and often fell into a pattern of antagonizing Vegeta whenever he felt she was being unfairly vindictive. His crush on her faded to the background in favor of battling her surly personality.

 

It was also during this time of friction that Boxer felt like he learned the most about Vegeta. After her aloofness and disappearance into the cosmos, discovering her quick wits and rapier tongue had been a frustrating and fantastic insight. Once when Vegeta was being particularly pigheaded, he’d cussed her out in English because he’d run out of insults to call her in Japanese. To his surprise, she’d responded in kind, calling him an “asinine failed abortion attempt by his dog fucking mother.”

 

Boxer had not taken well to the insult at Bunny.

 

Of course, it had come to a head when she had overloaded the gravity simulator and nearly bombed his fucking house. Boxer, sick with anger and worry had practically swan dived into the wreckage of burning metal. So sure he would find Vegeta in pieces or speared with shrapnel, he ignored the cuts and burns that marked the hands he needed for work, desperate to find her.

 

He hadn’t realized he was crying when Vegeta’s tiny hand punched into the air and he was there, pulling her into his arms and telling her it would be okay, that he had her. Boxer didn’t even think how that would look or what it would implicate to onlookers that he wouldn’t release Vegeta until the med staff arrived, ignoring her weak protests and Yamcha’s bitching. He even followed them to the infirmary, urgently wanting to protect her identity and her body from his employees and their unintentional blunders.

 

Boxer kept vigil at her bedside for the four days it took her to wake up, not eating or bathing until he could be the first to yell at her for being a dunce. To his surprise, she took the berating in almost apologetic silence, seemingly unshocked by his presence. Boxer was a little worried Vegeta was still suffering from the concussion, despite reassurances that she was fully lucid and her vitals were perfect.

 

After that, Vegeta was - not softer, but not so guarded around him either. She still kept his parents at arm’s length, but she was never so closed off or wary around him again. Their fights were less atrocious and more playful. She was more receptive to answering questions (still tersely, but at least she’d stopped ignoring him) and to returning (miniscule) favors than before.

 

At times, it seemed like the woman was battling herself, both wanting and resisting the friendship growing between the two. Vegeta would sometimes say snide or insidious things along the lines of a Lisbeth Salander monologue, that disparaged Boxer’s gender and high sex drive. It was only mildly annoying until maybe a month into their fledgling friendship.

 

It was when he’d been trying to smooth things over with Yamcha. He and the other man had brought home a pretty, young woman after a late night out. The trio, drunk and high, were making their way to Boxer’s bedroom when the woman, hastily undoing the fronts of their jeans, had dropped to her knees and guided both of their cocks to her mouth. Boxer watched her lick along the lengths, stroking whichever dick that wasn’t in her mouth with her hand, doing her best to get them off on the upstairs landing. He had ended up wrapping one hand in her hair to keep her still, lazily face fucking the girl while he helped her jack off Yamcha with the other. It was in this position, when he’d turned to mouth at Yamcha’s neck that he caught sight of Vegeta climbing in through her bedroom window.

 

Immediately, Boxer was made aware of where he was and what he was doing. Before he could usher his paramours to privacy, Vegeta noticed the threesome going on outside her bedroom. Rapidly, surprise then disgust then a horridly blank expression flitted across her face and she marched over to slam her bedroom door shut. At the sound, Yamcha flinched and entreated the girl to join them in their room.

 

The next morning, after providing the girl with some coffee and a cab, he sought out Vegeta to apologize. He found her outside the remains of the gravity simulator, stretching in poses that Boxer tried not to think about her doing in more intimate setting. Even with his crush, Vegeta was his friend and, going from her reaction the night before, not very comfortable with sexual acts - he would do his utmost to respect that.

 

His apology however, didn’t go well. Vegeta only changed poses so that she was standing and stretching her arms in a way that couldn’t be construed as sexy at all. She faced him, but didn’t acknowledge his ramblings. Once he finished, she snatched up the peace coffee he offered and spirited herself towards the gym with a turn so sharp that her short hair whipped at him in dismissal.

 

Vegeta managed to ignore him for a week before Boxer snapped, threatening to withhold her precious gravity simulator if she didn’t talk to him. Vegeta had glared at him and called him a disgusting pervert. Boxer was so relieved for the opportunity to bridge the gap that he completely ignored the jab. He managed to weasel himself back into her good graces with creative conversation skills and the weirdest, most argumentative apology he’d ever given.

 

They had been on pretty good terms since then. Boxer supplied the newly improved simulator for her training along with some battle bots and Vegeta provided medical and biological data on Saiyan physiology. He did his best to keep his sexual encounters away from Vegeta and she returned to treating him with playful, snarky tolerance. Their conversations grew deeper, Vegeta slowly opening up like a blooming bud. Boxer found that he valued Vegeta friendship so much that he was unaware of how the feeling blended with his crush until it slowly became more.

 

“Fuck,” Boxer mumbles, pulling himself from his thoughts. He pulls a rag from his grey coveralls to mop up his brow.

 

No wonder Yamcha had been so prickly lately. Who wouldn’t be when it was so obvious your significant other was slowly but surely falling in love with someone else? Boxer winces at the thought. Not that his feelings would take him anywhere. Even if Vegeta weren’t as snuggly as a cactus, the woman’s personality could be so tempestuous that it was hard to tell where one stood with her. If she wasn’t spewing insults or boasting her superiority, it was unlikely that she would even recognize someone’s existence. Boxer was pretty sure he was Vegeta’s closest relationship, if not in her life then definitely in her time on Chikyuu.

 

Still, even he wasn’t exempt from the storms of Vegeta’s mood swings. For the past two weeks, since her tail started to regrow, she’d been as withdrawn and nasty towards him, if not more so, than anyone else. The faster her tail grew, the worse her attitude: he figured that it had to be a painful thing for her to go through for her to be so affected. It got so bad that even Yamcha noticed, commenting that she needed to get laid and prompting Boxer’s ill-fated joke about getting her to join in their bedroom revelry.

 

The genius sighs and runs a gloved hand through his sweaty blue hair, grimacing when he remembers the soot and engine grease coating it. He looks at the work he’s completed - he’s nearly done with the infrastructure of the gravity room he’s making for Vegeta. He had hollowed out one the guest houses at the edge of the property and was in the process of turning it into the woman’s dream gym slash safe house. He knows Vegeta could get uncomfortable surrounded by others in the main house, so this was his gift to her. Peace of mind. He had started on it about a month before she’d reverted back to being the frigid bitch she was at the beginning of their acquaintance. He was nearly done and was hoping it would put her back in a good mood once completed, but her request yesterday had thrown him for a loop.

 

Deciding a shower was in order, the man cleans up and heads out, being sure to lock up carefully. He didn’t want Vegeta stumbling in and ruining the surprise. Although he knew the measures couldn’t stop her if she really wanted in, it made him feel better. Jogging back to the main house, Boxer soon finds himself in the blessed oasis of his rain shower.

 

Wiping away condensation from the fogged mirror in his bathroom, Boxer glances over himself in the mirror as he towels off. He grins at his reflection; he really is the grand prize lottery of genetics. He got the Briefs brains and pastel coloring, as well as the Hare hotness. Tall, broad frame, a fast metabolism and tendency to carry muscle, and damn near perfect symmetry; Boxer was well aware why he was named sexiest man alive the three years in a row after he stepped in as the new president and CEO of Capsule Corp. His looks combined with his intelligence, wild child personality, and generous nature, he was basically the real life Tony Stark the kept the masses captivated.

 

Boxer pushed back the wavy blue bangs that fell in his face as he dressed in sweats and a tank, then makes his way downstairs. He should probably cut his hair soon. Maybe an undercut or a classic businessman ‘do? Something that showcased his jawline and cheekbones. He liked his chill surfer look, but it tended to annoy him during work, trapping sweat and getting in his eyes at inopportune moments. He knew Yamcha could care less how he groomed himself, but maybe he could find something Vegeta liked. She never seemed to care either way, being practically asexual, but for once it would be nice to be the one being fawned after.

 

He grabs salted chocolate trail mix and a water bottle from the kitchen before heading to the living room. He’s checking his cell for a call from Yamcha or work when he notices the low volume of the television. Boxer looks up at the back of Vegeta’s head. He likes her hair; it’s reminiscent of the choppy bobs popular among women. The spiky ends are longer in the front than the back and the widow’s peak curved it in a way that framed her pretty face in punkish halo. He wonders if, like Goku, her hair is like that naturally or if she did something to. He thinks it’s the former since, like anything that wasn’t beneficial to her training, she didn’t seem to regard it in anyway.

 

“Hey,” he greets and vaults over the back back of the couch. He places the bag of trail mix between them and stretches out, his fingers sweeping along her far shoulder. She glances at his hand then at him then at the bag. She must decide to spare his life since she chooses to take a handful of trail mix. Boxer hides his smile.

 

“What are you watching?” he asks looking at the screen. He feels Vegeta shrug and hopes to some god somewhere that she can’t sense his giddiness.

 

On screen, a woman is being tied up by a man as he tells her about his peculiar tastes and Boxer chances a glance at Vegeta. She still seems passive, face blank. She’s playing with her tail, not giving any heed to the sexual tension playing out on the TV. Boxer eases up, allows himself to feel brief victory that Vegeta is once again relaxed around him, and tries to focus on the awful dialogue of the movie.

 

He’s pretty relaxed by the time Vegeta speaks up and it startles him a bit.

 

“By this time next week,” she murmurs, “I’ll be in a rut.”

 

Boxer frowns. What kind of issue could Vegeta possibly be facing soon? He considers her request for a ship and straightens up as panic grips him.

 

“Is someone coming? Is that why you wanted a ship? Why didn’t you -?”

 

“Shut up,” she cuts him off sharply. “No one’s coming, you’re not in danger.”

 

Boxer isn’t soothed and his frown deepens.

 

“Then what’s your fucking problem?” he snaps.

 

Vegeta goes rigid and finally turns to face him when she addresses him again.

 

“By this time next week, I’ll be deep in a rut. If I can’t leave the planet, you’ll have to lock me up somewhere that can contain me.”

 

Now Boxer is beyond confused. He understands that Vegeta is offering up the reason behind her recent behavior regression and he’s grateful. He can only guess how hard it is for her to open up. It makes his gut twist uneasily that he has to ask her to explain in more detail because he can’t grasp her meaning.

 

“I’m sorry, Vegeta, but I don’t...could you explain it in a different way? Please?” he tries to keep his voice gentle in an effort to not set her off.

 

Vegeta’s eye twitches once in irritation and she exhales through her nose like a bull. She takes a deep breath and explains in a rush:

 

“Saiya-jin are a combative species; to better meet the demands of battle, females are only ever prime for reproduction a few times in their life. We go into ruts. It’s brought about by a surge of hormones from the tail. It’s painful and induces a mindless drive to mate,” she pauses here, uncertainty in her sable eyes before continuing.

 

“I wanted to be gone before the rut set in. I don’t want to be anywhere near Kak- a male when it settles. Before hand, I thought it was simply my tail growing back, I hadn’t realized...I’ve only ever had one rut before and I didn’t recognize the signs until the aches started.”

 

She trails off, looks at his face once, then turns away to face the tv once more while he digests the information. Vegeta looked more uncomfortable than Boxer had ever seen her and hoping to put her at ease, he reluctantly retracts his hands to his lap. Her shoulders droop slightly.

 

Boxer tries to ignore the twinge of annoyance in his chest at her near mention of Goku. It made sense; if what she described was anything like heats some mammals went into, she would be most drawn to the most viable male. Who would be, Boxer bitterly lamented, Goku.

 

“Okay,” he breathes. “What do you think you need? Human women don’t...I want to help as best as I can, but I need your cooperation.” Boxer mentally applauses himself at the brief flash of relief her face displays.

 

‘Isolation,” she supplies. “It would be best if I were contained alone, kept away from anyone who would...” she stops and Boxer waits for the tough admission he knows is coming.

 

“I’ll be in a vulnerable state and not in my right mind. I don’t want to whelp, so avoiding any men is best.”

 

Another pause.

 

“I’ll need a higher supply of food and water. My metabolism skyrockets. And nesting?” she cocks her head, and Boxer keeps it to himself how cute he thinks it is. “Nesting material. The biggest concern is finding a place that can hold me while I’m in that state.”

 

Boxer’s mind goes to the safe house he’s building for Vegeta. A few adjustments to the blueprints and it could easily hold her in as well as keep others out. The house itself was done, but the gravity chamber needed to be finished. He could complete reinforcing the room and let her hole up there until her rut ran it’s course. It wasn’t ideal, but…

 

“I think I could have a place ready for you. When does your rut start?”

 

Vegeta’s mouth parts in surprise before she answers.

 

“In about four days. It will probably last about two weeks.” Boxer nods.

 

“Okay. Give me two days and I’ll have a containment room ready to meet your needs.”

 

The alien nods and an awkward silence settles between them. Boxer clears his throat to dispel it. Vegeta finally looks at him again and Boxer has to clench his hands to resist reaching out to soothe her. She wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.

 

“Vegeta,” he ventures “I - thank you. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

 

She scoffs and Boxer almost smiles as the tension flees her.

 

“I’m not a coward,” she replies. He nods in agreement.

 

“You’re not. You’re the bravest person I know.”

 

It goes unsaid that he thinks even Goku doesn’t come close.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, Boxer is showing Vegeta her new digs a little early. It’s about 2 kilometers away from the main house, tucked away in seclusion at the edge of the property by the wooded area. It’s a sprawling T-shaped one story, with a wrap around porch on the long stem and one of the arms. The woods stretch out behind it and extends for about three square acres out. Vegeta is suspicious of the house as he lets her in, especially when he explains how long ago he started renovations.

 

“Why?” she asks.

 

Boxer shrugs. “You’re pretty solitary. I figured you’d get on better overall if you had your own space.”

 

He hopes this admission would calm her, but she only appears more agitated. Luckily for him, she only glares up at him for a moment longer before opting to explore, and Boxer releases the breath he’d been holding.

 

There’s only three real doors in the house, two of which lead outside and one which sealed off the gravity room from the rest of the house. The long stretch of the house has an open floor plan that sports a kitchen, dining and living room areas, and a sunroom that looked out into the woods. Opposite the sunroom, there’s an archway that leads to a forked hall that gives the house it’s T-shape. On one end of the hall, there’s an ensuite master bedroom. On the other end is the gravity room. The house is illuminated by lightly tinted skylights. Overall, it’s minimalist and contemporary and the floor plan provides a free, unenclosed feeling that he hopes will help put Vegeta at ease.

 

Boxer adjusts the duffle bag full of linens he brought and goes to open the gravity room for Vegeta.

 

“I’ve got everything programmed on a schedule. Server bots will bring you food and water and communications will open from the outside every evening so I can talk with you to make sure everything is okay. Other than that, body monitors and surveillance cameras are set to passively scan you and only go fully active when you have unusual readings,” Boxer pauses and thinks.

 

“You can train, but it’s capped at 150 times,” he grins at Vegeta’s surly face. “Hey, you said you wouldn’t be in your right mind.”

 

He drops the duffel bag and kicks it to the center of the room. He looks over his friend. She’s been acting more cagey and her temperature rose pretty quickly the day before. Vegeta being spaced out and unaware was disconcerting, so he’s glad that she decided to lock up early.

 

“The inside latch is disabled, so once I leave you’re stuck,” he warns and gestures to the wall.

 

“The computer is touch screen and voice activated. It controls the gravity room and you can use it to contact me or watch TV - I suggest you play around with it before you get too, uh -” he pauses and Vegeta snorts at his discomfort. “There’s also a pull out cot and a small bathroom, so you can shower and stuff.”

 

He stops and can’t think of anything else to say. He’s a nervous and a bit wary about ditching Vegeta, even if all her needs are met. He’s done his best and he knows she can take care of herself, but he’s scared for his friend because he can tell she’s upset about what her body’s putting her through.

 

“Will you watch?” Vegeta suddenly asks. Boxer frowns.

 

“Watch what?‘

 

“On the surveillance cams.”

 

Boxer’s face flushes and he scowls at her when he notices her trying not to laugh.

 

“Not unless I get an alert that you’re endanger. I’m not a pervert,” he states primly and ignores her chuckle.

 

“But you are a man,” she shoots back. He rolls his eyes.

 

“Whatever. You seem fine, so I’m going to work. I’ll talk to you tonight,” Boxer stretches and makes his way to the door. Vegeta simply shrugs and goes to preoccupy herself with chamber’s computer system.

 

“‘But you are a man’ what the fuck,” he mutters. He ignores the insidious thought that she’d never even know if he spied on her or not.

 

* * *

 

In the future, when Boxer will think back on this moment, he’ll wonder if maybe it’s fate, that they are somehow strung to certain events and certain people in ways inescapable and thus destined to overturn every other thing that might stand to challenge them.

 

Four days had passed the first time his smart watch beeps out an alert from Vegeta’s house. It’s also the day after he’s finally made up with Yamcha. Boxer had, for once, decided to be the one to fold, knowing their fall out was his fault. He goes and gets a haircut (he settles on a low pompadour fade and he looks fucking _tantalizing_ ), nabs some tickets to a music festival Yamcha had mentioned, and proceeds to seduce the hell out of his boyfriend.

 

It works. Yamcha plus good music, hot girls and some molly equals Boxer giving his long-term partner a reach around while pounding in his ass.

 

He’s just returned from dropping in at the corporate office and is preparing snacks for an afternoon of Netflix and and chill when the _bip bip_ draws his attention. He’d been doing well to divide his time between his life and Vegeta, staying most nights in her living space sleeping on her couch and working on projects and paperwork he can easily carry out away from the office. It had been effective at keeping him near but still keeping him plugged in. However, after his reunion with Yamcha, careful rescheduling had been required because Boxer knew the other man wouldn’t take to kindly to the situation.

 

Not that Boxer had any plans to share Vegeta’s predicament. He doubted that his friend wanted anyone aware of what she was currently going through.

 

Boxer checks the time and sees he still has over an hour left before Yamcha is set to arrive - he’s probably still in bed nursing his hangover. He grabs his tablet and pulls up the camera feed in the gravity room.

 

He almost immediately turns it off in a hot rush embarrassment and desire. Vegeta is naked, nestled atop a veritable mountain of bedding with her hand looking like it’s lost somewhere between her legs. He’s pretty certain of what she’s doing, but he has to check since the body monitors are reading elevated stress and heart rate levels. He looks again, more closely and tries to keep himself detached. Clinically, he looks over Vegeta, checks her positioning and looking over the skin he can see for any abrasions and looks again at the readings from the body monitors.

 

She’s kneeled over her legs in the fetal position, her face pushed into the nest she’s built for herself. Her right arm is by her head, bracing the woman’s weight and her back is arched, raising her butt up, her tail limp at her side. Her left arm is under her body and he can see her shoulder moving, even if her hand isn’t visible. Sweat gleams on her body and Boxer clicks only a few different camera angles to try to discern why the alerts sounded before he can no longer justify a reason for watching Vegeta.

 

The scientist is just about to turn it off when Vegeta rolls over and he gasps in horror. The bedding and the alien are both damp with scarlet fluid; Vegeta’s left hand is clawing at her privates in a mockery of what it should be doing. Her lower belly and thighs are covered in gore as she uses nails like hooks to rake out the skin of her vagina. With a curse, he’s up and running to his car, shooting a quick _gotta work sorry_ to Yamcha before the car’s even started.

 

Upon arrival, he quickly capsulizes his car and runs inside, grabbing the tranq gun and first aid kit he left just outside the gravity room. As the doors finish sliding open, he looks in for Vegeta and panics when he doesn’t see her. He steps into the room, the door quickly hissing shut behind him and trips over something in his haste. The tranq gun slips from his sweat-slicked hands and slides under the edge of the bloody pile of pillows and blankets. Boxer twists about to keep it in his sights as he tries to stand, but a weight moves over him. He realizes what it is that tripped him as small, strong hands tug roughly at his dress shirt. Vegeta, somehow, must have heard him coming and positioned herself by the door to ambush him.

 

“Vegeta, quit,” he snaps. He manages to turn around, with her unintentional help from yanking at his shirt. His friend’s eyes are glassy and alight with crazed hunger. In person, he can see the gouges the woman had inflicted on herself bleed sluggishly. The smell of iron is thick, but fails to distract him from the strangely saccharine scent it’s competing against. Vegeta leans in and rubs her face in his neck and the smell of her sweat plugs his nose. It’s sweet and cloying in a way it’s never been before, and he wants to inhale lungfuls of it, starts to before he catches himself.

 

“You quit,” she mumbles back. She gets frustrated with his squirming and settles over him more securely, straddling his hips and pushing his shoulders back. Boxer ignores the interested perk of his dick and pushes back, but his efforts are in vain. Even dazed and with half-assed effort, her base strength is still about a thousand times greater than his. He curses his clumsiness and instead of fighting for a useless outcome against Vegeta, he starts to push his heels against the floor until his head brushes against her stupid pillow fort.

 

Vegeta, who’d been occupying herself with ripping off the front of his pants once he’d stopped struggling against her, looks up at him strangely when they move across the room, but doesn’t do anything to stop him. Instead she nuzzles - _nuzzles!_ \- her face into his bare chest and her scent hits him again. For a moment, he questions why he’s trying so hard to resist this, can’t find a reason to continue fighting when Vegeta licks a stripe from his navel to nipple. His erection is jutting against the fabric of his underwear to rub at the wetness between Vegeta’s thighs and she grinds down on it, hissing in pained approval. He can feel her tail sluggishly rubbing his inner thigh.

 

The sound is sobering and Boxer knows, when he gets out of this, that he’ll hate himself a bit. Vegeta isn’t wet because she wants this, wants him, she’s like this because her biology is literally driving her fucking crazy. She’d clawed out her privates trying to make the sensations stop and Boxer is the lowest fucking trash for getting hard on the sensation of her gored womanhood.

 

Boxer’s head thumps back and closes his eyes; he feels hot and sick. He’s starting to sweat under the tiny Saiyan and his body goes limp as Vegeta slowly rotates her hips on his, rewarding his perceived compliance. He reaches back with both arms, slips them under the blankets and slowly feels around for the tranq gun; he doesn’t want to alert Vegeta to what he’s doing, but he also doesn’t want the sensation of the woman he deeply cares for writhing on him to stop. Vegeta must like the sight he makes because she hums and places a hand on each of his biceps. She licks another stripe across his chest, this time ending it by catching his nipple with her teeth before soothing it down with kiss. The sting makes him thrust up and she lets out a breathy chuckle at the buck, pushing down to increase the friction.

 

His mild participation seems to soothe her urgency. She slides a hand up his arm and he stops moving that one, let’s her revel in the sensation of his skin while her revels in hers. She’s warmer than usual and damp with sweat, but her tan skin is soft and smooth over supple, strong flesh. He watches her face as she leisurely explores him, but Vegeta’s focused on what she’s doing. Her eyes are still glassy, but the crazy, hungry look is gone. Instead, she’s fascinated as she twines her fingers with his, marveling the contrast of her tan, smooth digits to his pale, spidery ones. She guides his hand to her face, lays it out, and he wonders how she knows, wonders if his wants ever played out on his face each time he stopped himself from doing this.

 

Vegeta pops his thumb in her mouth and sucks hard; Boxer jerks against her at the feeling, breath stuttering, and she smirks and finally catches his gaze, dark eyes teasing. He crooks his fingertips just the slightest, stealing a long wanted carass. She retaliates by swiping a warm tongue over his thumb, before pulling his hand away from her face until just the edges of his nails graze her skin. She guides it down her body, pressing it closer the lower it gets and fuck, what did they teach women in space?

 

His fingers brush her nipples and she shudders and relaxes her grip on him. Her hand is over his when he palms a breast, but she isn’t coercing him; the motion is his.

 

He’s the scummiest of perverts, but he knows that once she’s in her right mind, she’ll shun him out of embarrassment, so he pauses his search for the the tranq to enjoy the sensation. Boxer is harder than he’s ever been and the woman he loves is naked in his lap, holding his hand to her chest. He could pretend, for just a moment, that they’re both here because longing finally coalesced into action. He drags his hand down, pausing over the tacky feeling of half-dried blood.

 

“Princess, what did you do to yourself?”

 

“M’fine,” she replies and pushes closer to her friend.

 

“Vege-,” he stops when she pushes his hand down, his fingers skimming dangerously over the bare skin of her slit.

 

“Look,” Vegeta says, pressing his digits in. He can feel her wetness coating the pads of his fingers, can smell her arousal. It lends a salty taste the air, blending with the sweetness of her sweat. Boxer twitches and the hand that’s still under the blankets finally touches the tranq gun. He grasps it, but doesn’t make a move to use it. His mind is going hazy and he’s forgetting any reason he should try to stop himself from taking what he wants from Vegeta when she’s so intent on giving it to him.

 

Boxer pushes closer to her, seeking her opening and gingerly slipping a finger in when he finds it. She hums in appreciation, tail wrapping tight around his thigh. With her eyes closed and head flung back, it’s the most open body language he’s ever seen on her. His eyes map the terrain of Vegeta, takes in the peaks of her breasts, the curves of her muscled body, and the crisscrossing of scars. He looks down to the dip where her body touches his, where his hand is currently seeking solace in her wet heat.

 

He pushes in a second digit and fingers her lightly - he can feel the abrasions from her earlier self-mutilation and he doesn’t want to aggravate them. Vegeta seems to disagree however, grinding against his palm with a frustrated huff. He adjusts for her, scissoring his fingers before slipping in a third, using his palm to cup her sex so that she can get more friction when she presses her clit down. Boxer is rewarded with a hot groan and he leans up to chase it, peppering kisses across her cleavage before taking a breast into his mouth. Her hands tangle in his hair, holding him in place as he suckles and wriggles his fingers against her hot flesh.

 

Using his fingers as a substitute, he mimics the way he’s only ever fantasized about fucking her. The hand on the tranq gun tightens just as Vegeta’s pussy clenches on him. Her orgasm hits her, dampening the shredded front of his pants and making her hands and tail grip him painfully. Tears sting his eyes as he bites into the flesh in his mouth, wanting to mark her, to put a claim as close to her heart as he can. He lets her ride out her pleasure, easing his teeth out of her as her body relaxes. She nibbles at the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet. Her body still warm and slick, even if she’s calmer than before. Her tail waves around lethargically before resting on his wrist.

 

It’s easy to ignore the sharp prick of her bite when he shoots the tranquilizer into her side. She mumbles something as she slumps over, but it’s muffled by his body and Boxer eases her down back onto her soft nest. Her tail offers slight resistance when he pulls away from her and turns his back on her unconscious form.

 

Hastily, the man drops the gun and shoves down the front of his underwear to palm his dick. The hand he used to pleasure Vegeta is covered in a mix of her cum and blood, and he licks the salt of her off his skin before slurping the fluids from his fingers. His strokes are rough and unyielding as he jacks off, the musky taste of Vegeta and yearning and regret dominating the warm shiver he feels when he comes.

 

He tells himself his cheeks are wet with sweat.

 

* * *

 

Half-heartedly, he mops up his jizz with the tattered remains of his shirt after treating Vegeta’s wounds. Boxer knows there’s nothing he can really do, that Vegeta will still catch the scent of him in the air. He does his best to clean up anyway before sequestering himself out of the room.

 

Somehow, he makes it to his shower back home without running into anyone. The water pounds down on him in a heavy torrent, but fails to rinse his sins down the drain.

 

Boxer is a genius, a billionaire, a charity spokesman, the sexiest man alive, and now, a cheater and a rapist. Even his oddly open relationship won’t exempt him from Yamcha’s wrath once he finds out _who_ left the stinging mark on Boxer’s neck; the other man made it clear that he was supposed to stay the hell away from Vegeta. And fuck, Vegeta - Vegeta will kill him, no questions about that. She asked him to make sure no one with a dick, himself included, came close to her during her rut, and he blundered that badly within the first few days.

 

They both trusted him and he let them down.

 

He finishes washing up and makes his way from the bathroom.  Before he pulls a shirt on he takes a moment to assess the bite Vegeta left on him because it hurts a lot more than expected. He’s surprised to find that a large portion of his shoulder and neck are mottled black and blue. Boxer’s creamy skin is prone to bruising, but this - this isn’t what his neck should look like from just a love bite.

 

Whatever. He deserves worse.

 

Boxer rubs some salve on it and hopes for the best. Medical science isn’t his forte, but he knows enough not to let it stay wet or get infected. He pulls on his shirt as makes his way down to the kitchen to clean up from before, pausing when he hears someone there. He expects to find his mother, but much to his surprise and chagrin, he finds Yamcha instead.

 

“Hey,” he greets. “When did you get here?”

 

“A few minutes ago,” Yamcha replies. “You were in the shower, so I thought I’d get ready. We can still have our date.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Yamcha quirks a brow, but doesn’t question his boyfriend’s odd behavior. He returns to what he’s doing, leaving Boxer to stew in his guilt and unease.

 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear Yamcha until the man smacks him on the arm. Boxer starts.

 

“Yeah? What’s up?” he questions. His boyfriend frowns.

 

“I said, did I do that to you?” Yamcha points at his neck.

 

Boxer’s heart leaps and he covers the bruise. He’s kind of freaked out, but it’s the perfect opportunity to tell Yamcha the truth. He opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out is a just disappointment.

 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Got a hard time for it actually.”

 

Yamcha smiles back and kisses him.

 

“Sorry, babe,” the baseball player hums. He takes Boxer’s hand. “Come on.”

 

Yamcha’s movie pick turns out to be _Fatal Attraction_ and Boxer feels sick throughout.

 

* * *

 

Boxer slowly makes his way through the murk of the swamp, Raditz’s broad frame haunching over him. The other Saiya-jin is unconscious, the same poison making it’s way through his system having already left the other man inert. He contemplates leaving him, but decides against it. He’s almost at the rendezvous point, where he’ll get food and medical treatment and leave Raditz’s body in the latrine for making Boxer carry his fat ass. The garrison that his battalion had faced had been more prepared than his battalion commander counted on and the siege for the capital had raged for over three sleepless days.

 

He needs to stop for a moment to catch his breathe and adjust Raditz. Sludge squelches between his toes, but he’d rather make his way barefoot  than have this crap lining the inside of his boots. Boxer tightens the cloth that ties Raditz to him and adjusts the ki suppressor on his neck.

 

The royal warrior could curse Nappa’s big mouth. Because he went and boasted about Boxer’s rapidly growing strength and how the young Saiya-jin’s squadron was meeting the planetary quota more rapidly than many other groups, Frieza had decided it would be necessary to place him on the front lines. To test his merit and teach him new things, supposedly. And now he was strapped down with this damn suppressor and a dumbass battle companion.

 

Sweat makes his clothes cling to his body while he continues to make his way to the rendezvous. Raditz must have gained about fifty pounds since the last time Boxer had to carry him like this and added onto Boxer’s mounting dizziness from the poison and lack of food and sleep, the idea of looting and ditching the other grows more appealing.

 

A soft snap makes Boxer pause.

 

He pretends to adjust his clothes as he turns his head slightly and extends his senses, looking and listening and trying to catch a scent. There’s no wind to block sound or carry scent, but the ripeness and currents of the water would do well to mask anyone trying to sneak up on him. More slowly than before, he goes forward, anticipating an attack.

 

He doesn’t wait long. Movement catches his eye and Boxer catches the knife flung at him before using it to parry another out the air. He loosens the tie that holds Raditz to him and the meatbag drops into the shallow water with a thump. Hopefully, he’ll drown and Boxer can cut his losses.

 

Another knife flies at him and he catches that one in his free hand and spinning gracefully, sends it back to its owner. A cry alerts him to his victory right as clawed hand rises from the deeper waters to swipe at him. Boxer manages to dodge, stabbing the arm of the person before hauling them out of the water.

 

His eyes widen. The person before him is child, a few years younger than himself and obviously high on war paint; the transdermal fluid sticks to the boy’s chest, turning green skin sickly white. The kid gnashes his teeth and flings himself at Boxer with a cry, inciting the others with him to attack the Saiya-jin as well.

 

The battle is a short, but excerting one. Without use of his ki, it takes Boxer about ten minutes to completely defeat the team of twenty-seven. When it’s over, Boxer loots them for the war paint and checks on Raditz. Unfortunately, he’s still alive so Boxer reattaches him to his back. Snatching up a knife from one of the fallen soldiers, he cuts a thin hash of lines across his temple and another on his wrist before rubbing some of the war paint on the wounds.

 

He makes his way more quickly than before, adrenaline and the stimulant lending him some pep. It’s just past nightfall when Boxer makes it back to camp and after dropping off Raditz at the ship’s medical bay and refreshing himself with food and a bath, Boxer is able to find himself a private room.

 

Pulling out the his pack, he measures the war paint he managed to smuggle in. There’s only about three kantas, but if he’s careful, he can make it last a few months. He carefully siphons most of the liquid into a small nondescript hand cream bottle. After that, Boxer pulls down his pants and rubs the remaining war paint onto a cut he makes near his genitalia - so long as Frieza stays away, it’s the best place to hide the discoloration.

 

Laying down, he closes his eyes and enjoys the high encompassing him. The throb at his core, being the site of intake, is nice and feels almost visceral, like a warm vice has wrapped around him.

 

Opening his eyes again, Boxer is given pause. He’s not on a PTO stationed starship, but rather in a familiarly lit room. There’s a soft nest of blankets supporting him and a sweet smell in his nose, nothing at all like the stench of dirty soldiers in a cramped spacecraft. There’s a rustle of movement by his side as something settles over him. He tenses, ready to fight, but relaxes again once he realizes that it’s only Vegeta.

 

Vegeta.

 

Boxer quickly sits up in alarm and the alien braces her hands on his chest.

 

“Vegeta, what - ?”

 

She cuts him off with kiss, wrapping her limbs around him. Boxer notices that the sensation is that of flesh against flesh; there’s not a stitch of clothing between them. Vegeta’s tongue sweeps into his mouth, her sweet scent filling his lungs. He moans at the taste of her, sucks at her bottom lip as she pulls away. He can’t recall why he felt the urgency to flee only moments before. He’s happy where he is.

 

“You dreamt my dreams and came back,” she whispered against his mouth.

 

“Back?” he replies. Sliding one hand up her back, he cups her ass with the other and squeezes. Amazing. He pushes her closer and lays back down with her still astride him and pushes his face into her hair. She smells good, like a bakery. He’s never known Vegeta to wear perfume or makeup , but he’s glad she doesn’t. It would be a crime to mask this smell.

 

She hums in agreement and sits up to address him. “You left earlier, but now you’re here.”

 

The man has no clue what she’s talking about, but her nipples are in his face and that takes precedence anyway. Licking one, he let’s go of her butt with a promise to himself to return to it, and cups the other. Vegeta presses her warm, lithe body closer. Boxer feels warm too, almost feverish, but it’s not a hindrance. Instead he wants to move, to fill up the girl on top him so that the feeling is satiated rather than banished.

 

Vegeta rolls them over so that she’s the one her back and Boxer is happy to let her, settling between her spread thighs and thrusting softly against her. She arches up a bit and Boxer can taste her satisfaction in the air, sweet like the smell of her sweet. He mouths along the line of her abs, sucking a kiss into her navel. Palming at her breast with one hand and himself with the other, he’s torn between wanting to fuck her hard and wanting to tease her with foreplay.

 

When the alien wriggles impatiently, he makes his choice and sits back. He can see the protests coming when she frowns, but he quiets her by tapping on her hips.

 

“C’mere,” he mutters pulling her lower body up. Vegeta obliges him, scooting down so that he can maneuver her legs over his shoulders. He want’s to look down at her as he does this to her, doesn’t want to miss a single reaction that she has to him. He wants to take in everything she has and treasure it.

 

Kissing the smooth insides of her thighs, he takes a moment to check her over as a flash of recall shows her in a bloody state.

 

She’s fine now, clean and safe. There are scratches around her womanhood, but they’re not the gory nightmare he remembers. Letting it go, he noses closer and catches her eye as he tongues a slow trail up her slit.

 

He likes her reaction; her shallow breath stutters, as do her hips and she spreads herself open in encouragement. He does it again, rougher this time and swabbing her clit with his tongue. Boxer likes her taste and starts to chase it, suckling and flicking his tongue on the hooded nub to get her wetter before licking into her pussy to imbibe the juice.

 

His princess is making delicious little noises as he tongue fucks her, gasps and little moans of encouragement. He has to fight her to keep her still, pulling her bottom off the ground to remove her leverage. Boxer is aware that he only does it because she lets him, but he relishes that too, because _she let him._

 

Rising from under her, her tail rests around his shoulders, softly keeping his face pulled into the cunt he’s currently devouring. He slides his hands over as much of her as he can, cupping her tits and and tracing up and down her curved waist as he laps at her. Vegeta braces her weight on her shoulders and grinds onto his face and he hums at her. Good girl, he thinks, watching her take her pleasure in abandon. Just like that.

 

He eats her out until he can no longer ignore his aching cock. He needs some relief so that he doesn’t nut the minute he slides into her.

 

The heat under his skin has abated somewhat and his head feels clearer. He leans down some, pushing Vegeta’s hips back down. She fights him, like always, and he has to bite her thigh to get her to stop. Her tail tightens idly around his neck in retaliation and he smiles at the playful threat. Boxer smooths a finger along the appendage as he unravels it and lets it twine around his wrist when he settles her hips on the ground, her legs on either side of him. He thoughtfully wipes at the juices on his chin.

 

Still sitting up, Boxer surveys the warrior princess lying prostrate before him. She’s being unusually accommodating to his whims, watching the engineer with relaxed interest and he wonders briefly what he can get her to do in this mood.

 

He thumbs at her clit and her tail squeezes reflexively, shifting the bones of his wrist. Immediately, he retracts his hand and glares.

 

“Watch it,” he growls. “I’ll stop.”

 

“I’ll kill you.”

 

He scoffs and turns his attention back to the juncture of her thighs. His penis twitches angrily at him, precum beading thickly on the tips. He obliges it and teasingly, he rubs the head of his dick against her clit and sighs in relief at the pleasure that thrums through him. It releases a little of building pressure. He dry humps her slowly for a few thrusts.

 

It takes him by surprise when she suddenly sits up and grabs at him. He stills slightly and prays he didn’t do anything to suddenly upset her - he doesn’t think it will be pleasant to bleed to death because she ripped his penis off.

 

She’s not upset though, and gingerly she strokes him, staring hard at the scene before glancing at him with hooded, uncertain eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just thrusts lightly into her hand, watching her watch him. It’s arousing, the way she tempers herself for him, wanting to touch to show affection rather than to do harm.

 

He leans forward to kiss her again, let’s her taste herself in his mouth. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, he watches her tentative strokes for bit. It’s as if he was in pain for so long he didn’t notice until he was given relief by her touch. The tension drains away with each shy stroke and before long, he finds himself touching her back.

 

The inside of his princess feels like hot, wet velvet around his fingers. This isn’t like the desperate probing from before. Instead it’s more of courtesy call - he wants her stretched and ready to take him.

 

Leisurely, he finger fucks her, brushing the edges of her walls. He doesn’t feel any injuries inside of her, briefly marvels over Saiyan biology again. Rocking into her strong grip, Boxer closes his eyes and luxuriates in the feel of touching and being touched by Vegeta.

 

Soon, Boxer lets himself rest on her, pushing her back down. She bears his weight so easily it’s almost reflexive and doesn’t resist as when he pulls away. Instead, Vegeta loops her arms around his shoulders and spreads herself wider for him.

 

The furry appendage is still loosely wound around his wrist when he takes himself in hand and guides himself to her opening. The tip of his penis brushes against her tentatively and he alternates between watching her face and watching the slow penetration. Vegeta’s core is deliciously tight, and the state of her sex life, something he hadn’t actually thought about until now, teases his imagination.

 

When he’s finally sheathed inside her, he pulls away from her tail to brace himself, and takes a moment to look her over. Her eyes are closed and her head is arched back, but she doesn’t seem to be in any pain. Or, if she is, it’s the kind that she bears easily. Dark lashes part to reveal sable eyes and Boxer is knocked breathless at the hot desire he finds there. His princess clenches and pushes against him, and Boxer chuckles softly before he begins to fuck Vegeta in earnest.

 

They’re coupled for a long time, both of them enjoying the drag of their bodies against each other before Vegeta starts to slip back into the crazed need for cock she had earlier. With her urging him to come, Boxer finds himself falling into a similar haze.

 

Before long, he’s pulling back and pulling out, manhandling her onto her hands and knees. Before she could utter a protest, he thrusts back into her harshly and pistons his hips. Vegeta cries out, in ecstasy or agony; Boxer is hitting her deeper, the head of his cock pounding against her cervix. Leaning over, pressing his chest to her back, he reaches over to strum at her clit. He wants her to cum again before he does.

 

Vegeta, fucking bless her, is pushing her ass back into him while she bears the brunt of his weight. Not wanting be outdone by her efforts, Boxer pushes harder against her clit and nips at her neck where his face is buried. She must like it; seconds after he bites down again, he feels her squeeze tight around him, a long, lusty sound rising from her throat.

 

Taking the cue, the scientist begins to fuck erratically, his hips slapping into her backside. He clutches her tightly where his hands touch her and his teeth bury in her neck when he cums. Fucking magnificent. Pleasure makes a home along his spine and he pulls Vegeta closer to him. He continues thrusting, riding his orgasm, his movements slowing until he’s only grinding softly.

 

Vegeta, having held her position during his frenzy, slowly lowers herself to the ground. She doesn’t complain when he stays with her, refusing to budge as he continues his grinding and gentle stroking of her clit. It’s overwhelmingly wet inside of her, both of their releases having mixed together. When he finally pulls out, he props her hips up and puts his face at her opening. The hole, having been stretched to what felt like its limit to accommodate him, has contracted back to a size no bigger around than a pencil. Boxer’s mouth waters the slightest bit as he watches pearly liquid slowly ooze out.

 

Dark eyes observe him as he swipes at the cum, pushing it back in as more escapes. He continues to play with it until Vegeta’s tail, having been slicing slowly through the air, grips his hand and guides him away. Boxer lets himself be pulled until he’s lying face-to-face with Vegeta. The alien watches him for a moment before turning to face the other way, her body relaxing as she lets unconsciousness descend upon her.

 

The air is heavy with smell of sex and the sound of Vegeta’s soft deep breathing. As Boxer gazes at her, a dull sense of alarm plagues him - _what have I done?_ \- but it’s hold on him is fleeting and weak. Instead of trying to follow the feeling, Boxer scoots closer to Vegeta and gathers her body to his. She allows it easily, relaxed by endorphins and the tug of sleep.

 

He holds her tight.

 

* * *

 

They fuck another three times while he’s there, before Vegeta’s rut abruptly comes to an end, and all of those times leave Boxer busting harder than he’s ever had since he lost his virginity.

 

When he joins her in the small shower, he keeps the promise he made to himself about returning to her ass, licking into her puckered hole until she begs him to fuck her. He takes her hard in the confined space, upset when the spray washes away his cum. Later, after the server bots bring dinner, he covers her in ice cream and laps up the sticky rivulets it makes when it melts. He memorizes the sound of her unabashed laughter when he nuzzles and nibbles at her ribs, before she pushes him away to train.

 

The Saiyan scoffs at him when she can only go up to 3x gravity, but she trains anyway. Boxer is enraptured that she can twist and spring about so lightly while he’s splayed out on the floor, unable to move his body when he weighs almost six hundred pounds. He watches her until she decides she wants to play with him, and then he’s pleading with her to turn the gravity off so he can touch her. Laughing at his plight, she only mounts him and pulls up his head so that he can enjoy the view of her legs bracketing his Adonis’ belt. He comes embarrassingly quick from her riding him, delighting at being helpless under her control far too much.

 

Sitting astride the man, with him still inside her and plugging his release, she plays games with him and asks him questions. In punishment, she clenches her pussy tight and administers light chokes when he loses or tells a lie. It’s like an extremely sexy version of how they initially became friends. Boxer cums again and is exhausted by the time she finally turns off the gravity. They sleep on the cot, her hot body covering his, both of them covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite the room’s air conditioning.

 

They wake when breakfast comes and, while they’re still under the influence of Vegeta’s rut, the burning anxiety that drives their couplings has cooled. Boxer convinces her to be lazy with him after they eat, and she does despite how twitchy she gets from lack of stimulus. After a while of letting her go stir crazy from their idle spooning, Boxer decides to throw her a bone. He runs his hands over body until she’s wet and pliant, and then he’s fucking up into her, slowly rocking them both to orgasm. Once again, he stays inside her after cumming, despite never having had that fetish before, and savors the feeling of Vegeta’s flesh surrounding him.

 

Lucidity comes and goes, but never stays long enough for Boxer to figure out why he’s having mild panic attics.

 

* * *

 

Planets, when they are destroyed, make a beautiful sight, something akin to a diminutive supernova. The dust, hot magma, light and heat released by the suddenly depressurized core stretch out into the vacuum, like the planet is reaching out to leave a mark in its final moments. From his space pod, Boxer enjoys the display of light wrought from his destructive way; it’s the last thing he sees before the gas in his pod finally pulls him into unconsciousness.

 

He’s quite literally kicked awake, slamming into a padded wall with the force to knock the breath right out of him. Before he can gather himself, hands grip him by the neck and push him back into the wall. The image of Vegeta, dressed in all black casual clothes, swims before him; he ponders briefly what has his woman so riled up.

 

Then he remembers and feels sick.

 

Vegeta must notice the moment he realizes because she drops him then, stepping back as he fell forward. She glares at him, fists clenched so hard that droplets of blood are falling down from them. Her body trembles and Boxer thinks she’s going to hit him again, hopes she does, but the alien only steps back farther.

 

He can see the moment she pulls on that cold mask, knows that this isn’t Vegeta his snarky, grumpy friend, but Vegeta the scary, frigid bitch.

 

“Get out,” her voice is harsh, but even.

 

Boxer doesn’t even try to argue, just gathers his clothes - where they’d been abandoned by the door - and heads out. He hesitates in the doorway, looking back at her. She seems completely coherent, so in a quiet voice, he tells her the code she needs to override the inside lock, and hastily departs.

 

Outside Vegeta’s house, he pulls his clothes on and checks his watch. Two days have past since he lost his fucking mind and Boxer lets out a put-upon sigh. He checks his pockets, and finds his capsulized hover car, so he pulls it out and drives home.

 

He’s worried about what he’ll find there. Well over forty-eight hours have passed since he’s disappeared without so much as a by-your-leave. He’s made no contact with his family or his work whatsoever. Thankfully, he hadn’t had any important meetings lined up, but his lack of presence is sure to have made people talk. He hopes his dad stepped in long enough to calm the chatter and make sure no one went public with the story.

 

Sure enough, when he walks into the foyer of his home, reeking of sex and sweat, he can hear his parents and Yamcha, answering the questions from people who are probably the police. The chatter stops as he makes his way into the room and immediately, his mom latches onto him, crying. His dad and (likely soon to be ex) boyfriend greet him with questions of his safety. He assures them all that he’s fine, yes he realizes how scared they were, no he didn’t intend to do this.

 

When he manages to escape his mother’s clutches, he sits down, facing the two cops that had waited out the reunion and mentally braces himself. He answers all their questions smoothly, handling it the way he would a press conference. He tells them that he had just gone out for a short, impromptu adventure and ended up knocking himself out. He goes over the details with them again and again, careful not to change any details of his story; the man has never been more grateful for his eidetic memory.

 

Part of him wants to offer himself up, hold out his wrists and say _“Here I am! Arrest me, for I am a rapist. I forced myself on my best friend.”_

 

He knows it will be a useless endeavor however, given who and what his victim is, and so he keeps his guilt to himself. The cops finally leave, advising him to tell others where he’s going and to be careful. Boxer gives them his nicest smile and assures them he’s learned his lesson well, shaking their hands and willing to kiss their damn babies if it will get them the fuck out of his house.

 

His mother shuts the door after them and turns to regard him. It’s odd to see Bunny so serious; he knows he can never be described as anything other than a daddy’s boy, having always been underfoot of his father’s work, but his mom has always been the better parent at reading him.

 

“What really happened, son?” her sweet voice calls and Boxer deflates, looking down.

 

The need to curl up in his mom’s arms and let her kiss away his problems is strong, but Boxer isn’t a child anymore, hasn’t needed to be treated like one in a long time. He looks back at his mother.

 

“Mom, do you think you can take Dad out? I need to talk with Yamcha,” he replies.

 

The older woman assesses him for a moment longer before nodding in compliance. She goes and he can hear her titter away at his dad. Soon enough, his parents join him by the door, pulling on their coats. His dad claps him gently on the shoulder, nodding at his son before he leaves. The man is left alone and takes a moment to prepare himself.

 

With dread, Boxer takes a deep breath and heads back to the living room.

 

* * *

 

After Yamcha storms out, Boxer goes to the kitchen and gets an ice pack for his face.

 

He had told the other man as much as he could, about the house he made for Vegeta, about going to visit her after she ‘moved in’, about how the relationship had changed. He didn’t mention anything about the rut or how it had influenced his behavior. It wasn’t his business to share and he doubts Vegeta would take too kindly to being seen as a victim. So instead, Boxer makes her carry the burden of being a homewrecker, wishing he could take all the blame.

 

Yamcha had listened in stony silence and then, quite abruptly, slammed his fist into Boxer’s face. While Boxer had expected the hit, it still took him by surprise. After punching him, the man had coldly told him it was over and left.

 

Tenderly, he feels his nose as he trudges to his bedroom. Best news of the day, his nose isn’t broken. Judging by the wet sting of his mouth, though, he must have a split lip.

 

Boxer ignores the mirror in his bathroom in favor of washing the events of past two days off. It’s a short shower, the scientist not wanting to waste any time in fear of being reminded of the last shower he took.

 

Towel around his waist, the man finally looks over his face. As expected, he has a busted, swollen lip. There’s a gash across his nose where Yamcha’s baseball ring had cut him and already purple bruises are blossoming on his right cheek and eye.

 

When he finally takes note of his neck and chest, he groans. No wonder the cops had seemed so reluctant to believe his story: a ring of red and yellow bruises cover his neck and his torso is a mottled medley of colors from where Vegeta’s foot had greeted it. He twists to take in his back. Luckily the padding on the wall had prevented any bruising there and Vegeta had, surprisingly enough, taken care not to kick him so hard that she broke anything. Boxer just hopes he doesn’t have any internal bleeding and gingerly makes his way to bed.

 

What a lovely fucking day, he thinks to himself as he stretches out. Both of the people he loved had literally left their marks on him and promptly discarded him after, and now Boxer’s own guilt and self-loathing are taking their turn to beat him up. Boxer closes his eyes and sighs. He pulls the blanket over himself and does his best to clear his mind, willing himself to sleep.

 

He doesn’t dream anything that night.

 


	2. {PART II: Germinate}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can't really control herself around him, and that's Vegeta's biggest ire. Boxer ignites her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how long this took. There were about five rewrites and then a bout of dejection in which I somewhat seriously considered putting this up for adoption. I wanted to address certain things without making it too triggery for readers as well as make this a believable transition of perspective for fem!Vegeta. I'm not one hundred percent satisfied, but hopefully I was able to convey this in a way that readers find enjoyable.

* * *

 

Heat from the sun pounds down on Vegeta like a hammer against an anvil. She supposes that there is little else she could be, having gotten so used to being struck down on.

 

The Saiya-jin princess tilts her head back and allows the star to warm her; below the bluff she sits on, she can hear the pounding of the water as it breaks softly against the rocks. She likes it here, the heavy vegetation, the sharp crags, and the spray of sea. The alien can admit it’s one of the prettier places this mudball boasts. Actually, no. The planet itself is quite beautiful and the variety of climates make it interesting. It’s the sentient life that resides here that fucks it up.

 

Not like that makes it any different from the rest of the universe.

 

Standing and stretching, the alien undresses, taking another moment to absorb the sunlight before diving into the cool water below. She’s hungry and she’s hoping to find one of those big, grey fish with the teeth again - the last one had a lot of meat and almost no bones to pick out.

 

Vegeta had never pegged herself for a coward, but she’s knows that’s what she’s being; still, facing the harsh reality that awaits her is not something she particularly wants to do, so she hunts instead. Killing is an easy way to pass the time until her problems can no longer be ignored.

 

Almost immediately after that insipid blue-haired man left her side, the warrior woman had taken off, no longer able to stand the stench of their coupling that lingered in the air. The two weeks that she’d spent away had been uninterrupted, aside from that one odd spat with Kakarot when the other Saiya-jin intercepted her on her way to a desert canyon. He might have been alarmed at the fury leaking from her ki and showed up merely to make sure she didn’t go on a rampage; either way, she hadn’t slowed, punching him in the gut instead and inciting a fight that waged for about four hours until both their stomachs rang out in hunger. He left her then, with a stupid pat on the back, as though they were friends and a doubly-meant warning for her to be careful.

 

Tch. Idiot.

 

She sought peace by training in the wilderness (although it provided little challenge if she didn’t get creative), wandering, and hunting to abet the bouts of furious bloodlust that would seize her. Overcome by one of these fits of pique, Vegeta had broken her tail off at the base with her hands, leaving her lower back painfully sore over the next few days. She’d only come across this little island recently, with its dense jungle and lack of human trash. The sounds of the ocean all around and the harsh sun bearing down were reprieves from her own troubled thoughts.

 

Her days are filled with monotony and her nights are filled with dreams about strawberries and a much younger Kakarot. It drives her mad.

 

She doesn’t find any of those large fish (she makes a note to find out what they are), but she does catch a few of what she recognizes as sea turtles, a long, ugly eel, and a large flat fish with a whiplike tail. She gorges herself on the meat before bed, not bothering to cook anything aside from the turtles, and uses the blood as a means to rehydrate, too lazy to go to the river she found.

 

About an hour later, she’s jolted awake, stomach heaving in rebellion. Vegeta manages to make it to some shrubbery about six meters away before she’s forced to her knees, vomit spewing violently from her mouth. Shivers from cramped muscles rack her body, for minutes or hours she’s unsure, until there is nothing left to release but bile and then dry coughs. She places a hand on her flat, cobbled belly, willing it to be still. Swiping angrily at her watery eyes, the warrior rises and makes her way back to camp to gather what little she brought.

 

She supposes her problems can no longer be ignored.

 

* * *

 

It’s quiet, aside from the sound of a keyboard clacking in the scientist’s lab. Vegeta mentally scoffs at how unaware the man could be of his surroundings, thinking how easily she could kill him if she wanted to. She probably would, except then she would have to deal with this alone. No, there would be no easy way out for him - he deserves to suffer too.

 

The scientist has little speakers covering his ears, unable to hear or see her as she stands just behind him in the shadows. It used to be fun for Vegeta to sneak up on him and scare the wits out of him, so she reaches out to grab the back of his chair and yank him around to face him. Boxer gives an undignified squeak as he’s turned around, eyes wide as they meet hers. A man crooning about a runaway lover fills the room when the plug is yanked out of his computer and she pulls away from his proximity.

 

“Vegeta!” the teal haired scientist gasps, “Where the hell have you been?”

 

The proud princess ignores his question in favor of looking at his screen. His face evokes bitter fury, so she finds the best solution is to forgo looking at it.

 

“What are you doing?” she asks instead. Boxer frowns at her for ignoring him.

 

“I’m arranging for shipments of food capsules to go to West City food banks,” he replies. “What have _you_ been doing?”

 

Again, Vegeta ignores him. Nothing she does is any of his business, certainly not anymore. She turns her back to him again.

 

“I’ll be in my room,” she states primly. It’s the most civil invitation to talk she can give him. If he’s too stupid to take it up, that’s on him.

 

Her room is as stark, neat, and unwelcoming as it has ever been, but Vegeta was never one for harboring worldly possessions. The only things she really owned was the threadbare uniform and broken armor from Namek that she kept tucked away in the closet. Although she had liked the house, she didn’t want to return to it - it stood as a mausoleum for one of her biggest fuck ups yet. She much preferred the barrenness of her old room and the militaristic comfort it provided.

 

The alien princess goes about her business, showering and getting ready to sleep. She’s exhausted and the bed beckons her like a good, hearty meal. She doesn’t wait for Boxer - she doesn’t care what he does - but she needs some small creature comfort to discuss her dreaded condition. By the time the scientist makes it to her room, Vegeta has tucked herself in and has her eyes closed.

 

Lingering in the doorway, Boxer shuffles his feet a bit, unsure of what to do until Vegeta gets annoyed with his uncertainty.

 

“Are you just going to stand there and gawk or are you coming in?” she snaps. Boxer jumps at the sound of her voice. Clearly, he had not expected her to be awake.

 

The scientist shuts the door behind him and quietly makes his way to her desk chair. He doesn’t say anything after he sits. Vegeta can hear him fidgeting, but she refuses to look at.

 

“Vegeta,” he pauses, nervous. “Vegeta, are you -?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Another long pause. The silence is nearly palpable and Vegeta wonders if she could hear the man’s heartbeat if she focused hard enough. Minutes pass as Boxer digests the information. She doesn’t think he’s surprised by it, but more that the fuckery of it all is no longer so surreal to him. She waits and, with a deep breath, he finally speaks up.

 

“What do you want to do?”

 

It’s her turn to pause. Vegeta hadn’t really thought about it, but then, had she really needed to? The tenant in her womb hadn’t really registered with her because she didn’t want it to.

 

“I want it gone.”

 

* * *

 

After their talk, Vegeta picks up her training where she left off, utilizing the old gravity chamber and pushing the machine to it’s limits. She only leaves to eat or shower or demand the occasional repair or deal with the medical exams Boxer insists upon; she’s taken to sleeping in the gravity chamber with the machine settled to 200x - rarely does simulator fall below this number. The drag on her body is a distraction and a burden and a punishment. Vegeta had fucked up and she would not let herself forget it.

 

It should have been obvious to her that her rut could have affected Boxer. Nappa had warned her about staying away from him and Raditz during her first rut for that very reason (something Raditz had been unhappy about, but alas, Frieza would have killed her if she had gotten pregnant then), sending her away to deal it in solitude. And Kakarot’s whiny brat was proof that Saiya-jin’s could effectively breed with the trash on this planet. Still, Kakarot was a man - how was she to know that Saiya-jins and humans had enough in common that the native males here could go into a rut frenzy? The bite on her neck tingled.

 

And _that._ Vegeta scowled. She refused to even look at the meanings behind the unhealed mark Boxer left on her neck the first time they coupled or why she’s been dreaming his - and she knows they’re his because she would never be so unambitious as to waste a dragon balls wish on _strawberries_ \- dreams ever since.

 

 _You bit him first,_ her traitorous mind supplied. _He was only answering the call of_ your _dreams._

 

Vegeta’s angry frown deepened as she practiced a perfect crescent kick. That was his fault too. She warned him to stay away, that she wouldn’t be in her right mind. And she hadn’t been. What other reason did she have to initiate a pact with him? He was a pervert and she wouldn’t have touched him otherwise.

 

Vegeta’s isn’t unaware of Boxer desire for her, she just doesn’t understand it. From what she’s always known, men take what they want from those too weak to stop them - other men, women, kids - and they took it painfully. To be strong, you had to be ruthless, and she’s never known a weak man for long. Her fists whip through the air quickly, ending with a sharp, solid snaps.

 

But Boxer wasn’t ruthless. He made her things, provided her with shelter and food, stood vigil by her sickbed, and when she had been more acquiescent, he gave her his time. He did it all without her needing to ask and never demanded anything in return. Those aren’t the things you do with someone you want to fuck, those are the things you do with really good comrades.

 

He made Vegeta uneasy.

 

Frustrated, the Saiya-jin goes to the controls and ratchets the gravity up to 500x. She wants to put Boxer out of her mind, to ease herself away from any thoughts concerning anything that wasn’t her training.

 

Immediately, she feels sluggish and pained. The sudden jump in gravity means she now weighs over five thousand pounds when before she was only around three thousand five hundred. The drag of almost a ton makes her bones creak and and her ears pop. Her head aches from the pressure, but Vegeta forces herself to push through the shackles of her body and move. She’s not weak, she’s never been weak. Even beaten down and taken by Frieza, a position that would have made lesser being break, hadn’t made her weak.

 

The princess activates the training bots too. She needs to focus, and what better way to hone your concentration than fighting for your life? Death battles had never failed her, or let her down, or betrayed her.

 

The increased settings only ran for about a minute into her warm up before a loud beeping noise sounded. Boxer’s face filled up a previously blank screen.

 

“Vegeta, could you come up to my lab for a minute? I need to run through some things with you.”

 

Silence. Vegeta does twenty more perfect push-ups - the slow, painful kind that has her nose brushing the floor and her back in neat, crisp line. Boxer watches her with increasing ire and Vegeta bites back a smirk when she hears him suck his teeth.

 

“Vegeta, come on or I’ll activate the emergency shutdown.”

 

Tch. A middle finger and a ball of ki are flung at the screen.

 

“Asshole,” the alien mutters and shuts down the gravity chamber, letting herself enjoy the slow release as her body readjusts. The training bots, having whirled to life when she destroyed the screen, retreated to their stations in the wall. Vegeta takes her time settling; she would never admit it, but since she’s been doing her best to avoid Boxer and the drama of her current condition, she’s nervous to go seek him out and address it. After the chamber is off, she idly makes her way to the scientist’s lab, literally stopping to smell the roses a few a time and taking about ten minutes longer to arrive than she normally would.

 

The effects of her dawdling are evident before she even opens the door, sensing the irritated flaring of Boxer’s ki out in the hallway. He’s glaring intently at the door when she arrives, hunched over with his hands clasped in his lap and his foot tapping impatiently. Sitting up immediately, he shoots her a sarcastic smile.

 

“How wonderful of her highness to finally grace little, old me with her presence,” he croons. Vegeta’s eyes narrow at the antagonism, but refuses to let him get to her.

 

“At least you’re appreciative,” she deadpans and sits down in a rolling chair some feet away from him. “What do you want?”

 

Immediately, he sobers up and slips into professional mode - Vegeta would be impressed if she didn’t hate him so much at the moment.

 

“I know you’re preferring the idea of an abortion,” he starts and the alien has to stop herself from tensing at his casual mention of the pregnancy. “I’ve been looking into human methods of inducing one and going over the medical charts I have on you and the Sons to find the safest and most effective one.”

 

Vegeta nods at him to continue when he takes a pause.

 

“And I don’t think any of them would work,” sensing her growing irritation, Boxer shoots her a dirty look so she wouldn’t interrupt and continued. “Trying to chemically induce one would be too risky because of the unknown variables - the effects that it could have on your endocrine system if we used hormones or vitamin c overdoses to cause contractions in the uterus may or may not be permanent - _if_ it even works. As for more physical methods -”

 

“The child’s defensive ki would render them useless,” Vegeta completes, recalling the scans that Boxer had been concerned about the last time he did a physical. A heavy feeling settles at the base of her spine, sending a spike of panic and dismay through her, even as her face remained blank.

 

Boxer nods and pulls up something on his screen. “So now, I’m consulting you. Is there anything at all that you remember about Saiyan pregnancies and abortions? I know you once mentioned something about birthing pods.”

 

Vegeta shakes her head. “The pods were used a means to bolster the populations while the battalion units remained intact. None of the females on the field would be pregnant or in a rut, and we would still have the ability reproduce safely since the fetuses would be grown in a nutrient rich environment. I doubt your planet’s technology would have the proper extraction means.”

 

Boxer looks away from the files he’s scrolling through to shoot her an affronted look. “Test tube babies aren’t anything new on Chikyuu, Vegeta.”

 

“No, they’re not,” she agrees. “But aren’t those brats typically grown from stem cells or extracted haploids? And then put into a surrogate womb. Saiyan woman aren’t like that. We only release a few ova in our lifetimes and unlike the females on your planet, they’re created just before our ruts. We don’t have them at all times. Also, the zygotes were extracted mere days after a confirmed fertilization on Vegeta-sei, before ki defenses could go up. Same with the rare abortion.”

 

“A luxury we don’t have,” Boxer deflates and stops rapidly reading what’s on the computer screen. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”

 

“Fuck indeed,” Vegeta nods in agreement. “But then, that’s the reason we’re in this bullshit, isn’t it?”

 

Boxer looks up at the bitter tone and gazes steadily at her; he’s sporting that unreadable expression he often has when dealing with her and Vegeta hates that she has no idea what that tender, exposed look is supposed to mean. The stench of guilt roils off of him and his voice is soft when he addresses her.

 

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he murmurs and Vegeta internally winces at the affectionate way he always uses her title. “This is my fault. I know you hate me, but I promise you, I _will_ fix this.” He looks determined, the way he always does when faced with a particularly daunting challenge, reminding the Saiya-jin woman of one of the reasons she allowed him to consider her his friend at all. He’s a fighter.

 

“Come on,” he smiles tiredly at her. “Tell me more about Saiyan prenatal medicine and family planning.”

 

She does - what little she can recall that made sense from Nappa’s reminiscing, but she can’t help but feel they’re on a fool’s errand. That heavy feeling sitting on her spine reaches out, stretching it’s cold fingers and settling along her engaged nerves like a monstrous centipede. Vegeta doesn’t think this will end well for her or the little source of ki growing in her belly.

 

* * *

 

Light kisses trail up her back as she runs her tongue along the apex of the club-goer’s thighs, the pretty woman’s breathy moans stuttering as she watched Yamcha bite hickeys along the back Vegeta’s shoulder. Her pelvis thrusts up into Vegeta’s face, annoying her briefly, but Vegeta uses her larger frame to press the woman back down. Yamcha helps, leaving his partner to yank the woman’s arms up and securing them quickly to the headboard; his naked frame towers over her diminutive form once he’s done, plundering her mouth in a manner similar to how Vegeta plunders her cunt.

 

The sight makes Vegeta ache, hard and heavy, and she sits up to pull Yamcha into a kiss, running her tongue along the edges of his lips so that she can deposit the taste of the woman’s sex in his mouth. Yamcha moans into her mouth, rubbing a finger along the split of Vegeta’s ass and gripping Vegeta’s aching length to guide her back to the woman.

 

“I want to ride you,” the baseball player breathes, “While you ride her.”

 

Vegeta wakes with a scowl just as she’s pushing into the other woman, and with a violent motion, tosses the heavy blanket covering her form to the floor. She blames proximity to Boxer for this - on the one night she decides to stay in her room rather than the GR, she is slammed with one of his nasty sex memories. Sweat and some other wet substance she wishes to leave unidentified, have left her groin slick and aching, so she goes to the bathroom to take a piss and run a shower. Moments later, lukewarm water runs down her body in rivulets as she curls up into the fetal position on the shower floor, leaning against tiled wall. Her eyes close as she lets the shower wash away the grimy, disgusting feeling left by Boxer’s memory in her dreams.

 

Perverted-ass man.

 

The Saiya-jin lets her head roll back, the spray of water a soothing feeling against her face as she thinks over her predicament. It is obviously not lessening with avoidance as she had hoped it would - instead, it seems, the longer she kept herself away from the scientist, the more intensely she lived out his moments.The dream tonight has fostered her own memories from her time with him during her rut, making her feel even more sick with hate than she would have if it were just the dreams being vivid. And judging from the guilty, shadow-eyed looks Boxer cast her way when they did manage to see each other, she doubts things are much better on his end of the spectrum.

 

Another reason she’s avoided him. Knowing Boxer, he’d want to discuss the things he’s seen, curiosity and his innate desire to fix things likely to drive him to interrogate her into violence. Vegeta doesn’t want to know which moments of her glorious past Boxer has had the chance relive. She doesn’t even want to think about his inane, lecherous life, so much simpler and kinder than anything she’s ever known, let alone hers.

 

 _It’s these bites_ , she thinks, running a tapered finger along the slowly scarring ridge near her clavicle. _They’re fucking us up._

 

Mating marks. What a trite fucking joke.

 

Granted, not a joke Vegeta understood very well, having never paid much attention to Nappa’s waxing poetic or Raditz’s surly outbursts on the subject. It was something Vegeta never intended to explore, having no desire for one and fully expecting to be dead long before she did. And now, here she is, in possession of one and all of its unwanted side effects. The least of which being the dreams and desire to be in constant contact with the man who shared the burden with her. Reaching out for soap, Vegeta manages to avoid looking too closely at her still flat abdomen and the true source of her slowly encroaching terror as she lathers up.

 

As much as Vegeta is trying to hold it back, the dread is building up fast and the Saiya-jin knows she is only one bad moment away from snapping and doing something incredibly drastic.

 

Rinsing off, Vegeta gets out of shower and lets her ki and the cool air coming from her open balcony dry her as she stares at her reflection. Dark eyes flicker down her naked body, focusing on her navel and the strong ki announcing the life behind it. Tentatively, her hand hovers over the area, heating up with malicious intent as her own, stronger ki gathers in the palm. How easy it would be, to end this farce, and move on with her life. And yet - her hand curls into a fist, the dangerous ki dissipating as she goes to get dressed with sharp, angry jerks. Vegeta has never been a coward, but this entire situation has left her floundering, terrified into avoidance and denial.

 

Like a damned coward.

 

Vegeta sits on the edge of her bed wearing exercise clothes and the faint edge of hysteria. Soft giggles fall from her mouth, so she clutches her head tightly, trying and failing to reign in her reaction. _Oh god_ , Vegeta thinks irrationally, _I’m going to be a parent_.

 

She’s tired. And probably really into her hormones now. That’s why she’s being so unreasonable. Wishing idly for a bit of war paint to drown out her thoughts, the alien instead decides to go get coffee. It’s only an hour before she usually gets up to start training anyway, so she might as well take advantage and get a headstart on her day.

 

So distracted with her thoughts when entering the kitchen, she didn’t even notice Boxer sitting at the island until he muttered a soft greeting. Glancing over at him from the corner of her eye, Vegeta nods her own greeting - while silently chastising herself - and fills a mug with coffee before joining him, sitting at a stool opposite the man. He has his own cup of the bitter, black liquid and considering how worn he looks, it’s direly needed.

 

“You look like shit,” Vegeta converses, taking a sip of her drink. Boxer coughs out a sharp laugh.

 

“Thanks, Vegeta,” he replies, eyeing the the mug in her hand. “You know caffeine is bad for babies?”

 

He goes quiet as dark eyes assess him, a flush overcoming his pale face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ve just been doing a lot of reading on the general topic lately. I don’t think - that is -”

 

“Whatever,” Vegeta cuts him off and takes a couple of large gulps. “Not like I care.”

 

“Right,” the tall bluenet deflates. He’s quiet for a long time after that, seems to be contemplating something while they each sipped at their mugs.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

The sentiment surprises Vegeta for its randomness and the Saiya-jin finds herself scrutinizing the scientist’s tired face.

 

He kind of reminds her of Zarbon; a lot of height topped off with a pretty face and a charming smile that works hard to hide a wicked mind. Both were also similarly vain and annoying in their confidence to inspire awe with their beauty. But she had killed Zarbon because his type of wickedness was the kind that called her to death and left the bitter salt of hate on her tongue. Boxer - the fucking bastard - might just survive her.

 

“What for?” she questions mildly.

 

He stares at her in a disconcerting way. “Are you serious? This whole situation is my fault.”

 

Vegeta snorts. “Of that, I have no doubt. You’re acting incredibly bitchy just for that though.”

 

Boxer continues to stare at her as if _she_ was the one with faulty logic and it was starting to piss Vegeta off.

 

“What?” the Saiya-jin snaps.

 

“Vegeta,” Boxer starts. His ocean-like eyes seem to glow in the barely there light of dawn as he looks at her, guilt and concern making them limpid. “Vegeta, I _raped_ you. Doesn’t that - don’t you hate me?”

 

It’s Vegeta’s turn to stare at the scientist. He honestly thought -? It’s such a ludicrous concept that Vegeta almost laughs in his face, but the man’s earnest discomfort gives her pause.

 

Boxer’s actions and thought process don’t make any sense to Vegeta. Yes, Vegeta blames him for his stupidity, but the oversight is her fault. The fact that he really believed what happened constituted as him raping her was so beyond the scope of what Vegeta considered normality that it was...alien. He had no idea what real rape looked like.

 

Vegeta does laugh. A true belly-bursting, breath-stealing laugh and Boxer looks torn between wanting to laugh himself and getting angry at her dismissal. He must choose anger, since a moment later he snaps at her.

 

“What the fuck is so funny about that?”

 

“I do hate you,” Vegeta snorts. “But that wasn’t rape, believe me.”

 

“Yes, it was. You weren’t in your right mind to consent to anything.”

 

Vegeta frowns at his insistence. “If that’s the case, than I’m just as guilty, right?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Boxer’s genuine confusion wiggles past Vegeta’s frustration and the woman eyes her Chikyuu-jin counterpart.

 

Of course, Vegeta realizes, he doesn’t understand. It didn’t even occur to her until after the fact that what occurred between them could even be possible. He was running with even less information than her, and he’d done astoundingly well with not hounding her about the memories he was no doubt reliving in his sleep. No wonder he had no clue.

 

“It was the rut,” she decides to confess. “It affected you too. So I may hate you for not staying away, but I don’t think the whole thing was your fault.”

 

He’s quiet for a time, absorbing the information and Vegeta realizes the error she made at the moment he takes a fortifying breath. The alien goes for a sip, hoping, impossibly, that if she takes a long enough quaff of her coffee that it will stave off the man’s questions about the connection he’s undoubtedly made.

 

“Is that why I dream about you?”

 

Vegeta gives him her dirtiest glare at the question. She is admittedly impressed when he glares back instead of cowering the way he once would have. Finally, she places the mug down on the island top, fighting the urge to smash it.

 

“I don’t know what the hell you dream about, stupid man.”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

Vegeta grits her teeth and reconsiders breaking the mug. Instead, she slips behind her emotionless facade, the face of the unbreakable ice princess she is.

 

“How could I know? I’m not psychic.”

 

“I dreamt about Freiza. He was touching my cheek and telling me he saved my life. That my services and my body were now in his because he owned the life they were attached too.”

 

_“Show me loyalty, Vegeta. I saved your life when I kept you at my side,” cold fingers trailed up from the young princess’s shoulder to cup the side of her face. “Don’t I deserve something for that?”_

 

The Saiya-jin clenches her fist and the sound of shattering ceramic fills the air. Hot coffee covers her hand, but Vegeta ignores the bitter brew to send a heavy look Boxer’s way. His pounding heart thuds a rapid beat in her ear and encourages the surge of rage that filled Vegeta at his words.

 

“Shut. Your mouth,” her voice is low and deadly. A warning for the scientist.

 

A warning he chooses not to heed. “I dreamt about watching a planet get destroyed from a space pod. Vegeta, that’s not something I’ve ever done, it has to come from you. Just tell m-”

 

Vegeta has him slammed into the wall, her hands clenching sporadically around his throat, before she has time to process her reaction. It would be funny, to see a man the same height as Kakarott being held aloft against the wall by someone who, in normal clothes, looks like she couldn’t lift a feather let alone a man twice her size, if the atmosphere wasn’t so tense. Boxer doesn’t look away from her angry glare, his own fury making him brave despite the very real danger clamped around his neck.

 

“Put me down,” he orders. Vegeta pulls him away from the wall momentarily, only to hurl him back into it. The breath leaves him in huff. He doesn’t make a move to fight her off, but his scowl doesn’t let up. _He_ doesn’t let up and his audacity to keep pushing at Vegeta’s boundaries pisses her off more than anything else ever has.

 

“Fuck you,” she snarls. Boxer leans forward as much as he could in her grasp, anger making his handsome face into something ugly.

 

“Again, Princess? So eager for my cock already?”

 

Jerking away, Vegeta releases him as though he burned her. It wasn’t far from the truth. His very presence left her heated, with anger, with lust, with so much feeling, that it made her crazy trying to constantly downplay her own natural reactions to him. She loathed him, almost more than she’d ever hated Freiza or Kakarott. They never did this to her, made her feel anything other than cold determination. They burned her in a way that left a chilled rot on her heart, like dry ice had made it’s way through her veins.

 

Boxer just burned her until she was consumed. Nothing left.

 

The scientist steps forward to fill the gap she’d left, his proximity making her skittish. She hates his height, his fucking broadness which he shouldn’t even have since he spends so much time doing nerdy shit, hates how someone so much weaker than her can make _her_ feel so powerless. He leans down to glower at her, hands curled at his sides, his eyes never leaving hers. Boxer stands so close that Vegeta can see his nostrils flare when he inhales her breath.

 

“Well?” he hisses. The scent of coffee wafts over Vegeta and her eyes flicker across his face. A beat of silence passes between them and then Vegeta is wrapped around him as he lifts her body, their lips crashing in their mutual need to punish the other.  He swipes his mug and her own shattered mug off of the kitchen island, planting her ass on the countertop. His hands grip at the sides of her face tightly and Vegeta can feel the bite he left on the juncture of her neck throb in response to him, angering her even more.

 

She bites at his lips, gripping his shirt until she can hear the fabric complain under the stress. Boxer grunts in pain, pulling her closer and grinding his erection against her warmth, thrusting harshly, wanting to vent his frustration on her form. Vegeta pulls harder on his shirt, ripping it off and slides her tongue over his bleeding mouth, tasting his anger and desire. It reflects her own, but he doesn’t deserve anything of her. It’s not fair, how he can derail everything she’s worked for, with such casual dismissal of the brutality that comforts her, and still make her want him.

 

The alien leans back when he pulls away, gives him room to brush bloody kisses across her jawline and neck, to sweep a warm tongue over the still unhealed bruise of his bite from their last coupling. It sends a tingle through her body and the zing is enough to snap Vegeta back to reality, giving her a moment of pause in the fog of lust that clouded her mind.

 

She pushes him away and he stumbles back a few steps, catching himself on the sink counter. He’s panting and shirtless, blue hair dishevelled, lips kiss-swollen and red from the cuts her teeth left, watching her with heated wariness.The creamy expanse of skin across his broad chest calls for Vegeta’s attention, so she closes her eyes and grips the countertop until it creaks. Sliding down to stand, she turns away from him and opens her eyes, staring at the adjacent wall until she can collect the scattered bits of her composure. She can see him straightening up in her periphery, running his hands through his hair and picking his ruined shirt off the floor.

 

“Vegeta,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha-”

 

The woman turns away from him and walks out of the kitchen. She doesn’t want to hear his platitudes or excuses. She had training to get too.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta spends the next two days sequestered away in the GR and trains until her body is screaming for relief. She only comes out when she senses Boxer’s ki remain stationary outside the door for five hours and she gets tired of his distracting presence. Opening the door, she peers down at the man who fell back at the sudden lack of pressure.

 

“What do you want?” she mutters.

 

He swiftly scrambles to his feet and faces her, eyes drinking in her sweaty visage. Vegeta viciously squashes the concern that sprouts up when she notices the bruise-like circles under his eyes and his sallow complexion. His sleep patterns are none of her concerns and frankly, he deserves the troubles that keep him awake.

 

“Hey,” he greets and cuts to the chase. “I think I have something. If you still want to terminate.”

 

The two gaze at each other for a moment, before Boxer sends her a beatific smile. “Come on,” he gestures for her to follow.

 

Sedately, Vegeta trails after him as he leads her to the medical quarters of the compounds private laboratories. Vegeta would never tell him, but she finds his R&D set up to be pretty fascinating; he kept his personal and most revered research near his home behind security technology that no human would be able to penetrate and his more public-ready projects at the main labs in West City. Sometimes, she wonders if she falls on that spectrum of personal research or if she’s something different.

 

Swiping them past the most secured areas, the man guides her to a private examination room. Vegeta vaguely notices the same medical equipment from the last of their encounters, as well as some new instruments on a small metal tray, and watches him warily while he sets up. Boxer notices her careful observation and sends her a confused look.

 

“What?” he asked. Vegeta quirks a brow at him.

 

“Are you going to explain anytime soon or am I wasting my time?”

 

He scowls at her, but says nothing as he motions for her to take a seat on the cushioned exam bed. She does, sticking her feet in the stirrups and recalling with a shiver the last time he had her do this and he stuck a weird tube inside her to take pictures of their child; it hadn’t been pleasant and Vegeta had been less than gracious with him afterwards. The Saiya-jin immediately moves her legs and lets them hang, watching Boxer pick up what looked like two bracelets and a remote.

 

“Okay,” he starts and she listens carefully. “Our biggest issue last time was that with the baby’s ki level being so high we couldn’t physically remove it. Another point of contingency I thought of is that your own ki might be playing security guard.”

 

Vegeta nods, hating the suggestion, but the biology made sense. Just because she didn’t want the child doesn’t mean her body wasn’t going to act like she didn’t. It would foster the little parasite until it was removed.

 

“So what’s your solution?” she asked. He grins at her and holds up the bracelets.

 

“Ki suppressors! It was kind of a duh, no shit, Boxer moment, but I had to fine-tune my instruments. These are for you,” he gesticulates at her wildly for a moment and after some apprehension, the Saiya-jin holds out her arms so he can click them into place.

 

They’re made of conductive metal and some kind of clear polymer through which she can see what look like little lamps and wires running through it. She admires the sleek and surprisingly light design, shaking her hands a little to test the sturdiness.

 

“Stop, stop, come on,” Boxer interrupts her investigation. “I want to finish my little show and tell.”

 

Vegeta gives him a dirty look but stops. He wiggles the little remote before pressing some buttons on it and immediately Vegeta feels heavy and cut off from the world. She can sense Boxer through her normal senses, but the fluctuation of his ki and emotions that she can normally sense are cut off and muted. She doesn’t like it.

 

Boxer puts on what looks like an old scouter and turns it. “Power level...holy shit is that normal?”

 

“What?” Vegeta asked, alarmed.

 

“What’s your regular power level?” he questions. Vegeta shrugs dismissively.

 

“Haven’t checked in a long time. Probably a few million now, but I usually suppress it.”

 

“Uhhh, okay. So, a power level of about fifty - is that normal for babies?”

 

“It’s high, especially for a fetus this lowly developed,” Vegeta purses her lips in thought and points out. “It might still be my own leaking out.”

 

Boxer scoffs, offended. “Don’t underestimate my craftsmanship. It is specific to your ki frequency and secures it like a damn brigade inside your body. Try to flare out or something.”

 

Vegeta tries to hit him with a small ki blast and is surprised when the power she has doesn’t even stir at her command. Her frown causes Boxer to crow in delight and he laughs at her.

 

“So, as stated, superb craftsmanship means that the fetus is sitting around fifty at this moment,” he reaches onto the metal tray and grabs what looks like laser pointer. “This is a ki disrupter. It was really important for me to lock down your own ki so that it wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. Basically what will happen is that this little thing will obstruct the ki flow in the fetus - if we do this enough times, the ki will actually turn on itself and the fetus won’t be able to grow, dying off and causing your body to abort naturally - you’ll miscarry.”

 

“Sounds painful,” Vegeta mutters to herself. Boxer overhears and shakes his head.

 

“I don’t think so. I did a few test runs on lab rats and they all just died of heart failure in their sleep. They were fatigued during the disruption sessions - there were only about five, by the way, don’t worry about it being a hindrance to training - but they didn’t seem to disturbed,” he frowns. “Unless you’re talking about the miscarriage part? Because I’m not sure then, women here are a little different.”

 

Vegeta shakes her head. “Let’s just start.” Boxer raises his eyebrows, surprised, but nods in agreement. Turning on the the disrupter, he raises her shirt and gently starts to move the device over where the power level is concentrated. She pretends not to notice his hesitation or the slight intake of breath he makes at the first touch of his technology on her skin.

 

It’s a slow, quiet process. Vegeta tries to sense the diminishing power of the child on her own but with the bracelets humming on her wrists she can’t. The powerless feeling makes her feel sick and she is relieved when Boxer finally calls an end to the experiment.

 

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks. Vegeta nods and Boxer’s eyes rove her face for a moment. “You did great, Vegeta. Next time, I want to check the vitals, so prepare yourself for the,” he whistles and pantomimes a stick being inserted into a hole. Vegeta rolls her eyes.

 

“Bah. Whatever. Get these off.”

 

Once he’s removed the ki suppressors, Vegeta flares her aura a bit, relieved at the easy control she wrests over her body again. She shoots an uneasy glare at the bracelets, hateful of their existence - those things were dangerous for a warrior such as herself - and makes a note to destroy them when this whole farce was over. As she follows Boxer out of the room, she can’t help the hollow sensation left in her chest at the lack of glowing power in her womb.

 

* * *

 

Before Boxer can do anything annoying in an attempt to retrieve her, Vegeta has already made her way down to his lab and is waiting for him in his office. When the man enters, yawning and grabbing at his keycard, Vegeta takes great delight in the startled jump he makes when he notices her presence.

 

“What the fuck! What the fuck?” the scientist clutches at his chest, glowering at her. Vegeta gives a small wave and stands, holding back her laughter and maintaining a stoic visage.

 

“Ready?” she inquires and the scientist nods sharply, still clearly annoyed with her. The pair is quiet as they make their way to the medical wing, silence settling comfortably between them. The chatterbox’s ability to know when to shut up was an important factor in their volatile friendship, as Vegeta was sure that she would have killed him out of annoyance, useful or not, if he didn’t have it.

 

They arrive and without prompt, Vegeta settles on the table and holds her wrists. Boxer gives her a blank look.

 

“You have to change, you know that, right?”

 

“I could easily kill you, you know that, right?”

 

Boxer crossed his arms and looked at the flimsy gown on the chair beside him pointedly before turning back to her. Scowling, Vegeta hops down and keeps eye-contact when she, deliberately slow, peels off her training clothes. Cheeks flushed, Boxer looks away, turning his side to the alien and staring unwaveringly at the floor until he heard her get back on the exam table.

 

“Asshat,” he murmurs and begins the set-up. “You are so lucky that I was willing and able to learn how to do this stuff so quickly, you know. Otherwise, you’d have some other fellow poking around down there.”

 

“If it weren’t for you poking around down there, I wouldn’t here,” Vegeta replies in a syrupy tone. Boxer goes quiet, the guilt obvious on his face. Still on with the rape thing, Vegeta thinks, but she doesn’t bother trying to comfort the man. It’s not her job.

 

Bracelets in place and a towel covering her lower regions, Vegeta turns to face the sonogram, as Boxer once told her, trying to make out the vague outline of the creature living inside of her. Soon enough, a steady and rapid pounding sound fills the room, and Vegeta dazedly realizes that it’s the heartbeat of her child. She glances down at Boxer from where he is seated between her legs and observes the brief flash of pain on his awestruck face before he swallows and turns to face her. Quickly, Vegeta averts her eyes back to the screen, stoicism firmly in place.

 

“Anytime now,” she states.

 

“Right,” Boxer sighs out. Moments later, the icy, static sensation of the ki disrupter is running over her tummy.

 

Vegeta watches the screen raptly for any changes, but it seems that nothing was occurring. After about twenty minutes, however, the rapid sound of the beating heart begins to slow. Eyes firm on the screen, a moment later, Vegeta sees a sharp contraction of a little white blob and her eyes are instantly focused on it.

 

_Thumpthumpthumpthump._

 

She observes as the little thing contracts again.

_Thumpthump. Thumpthump._

 

She listens as the heart of the unborn Saiya-jin begins to slow steadily and she wonders for the first time if what she was doing was the right choice.

 

_Thumpthump. Thump. Thump._

 

Fuck.

 

“Stop,” Vegeta orders, knocking the disrupter out of Boxer’s hand and onto the floor where it flickers off. The man leans back with the sonogram stick in hand as she climbs down, surveying her bewilderedly.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” he questions, dubious.

 

“Going back to the GR,” she replies, yanking off the gown and grabbing at her spandex shorts. Silence follows her declaration. And then -

 

“Why?!”

 

“I changed my mind.”

 

“You changed your - what the hell Vegeta, do you even realize how dangerous that was?” Boxer is on his feet now, brow wrinkled in disconcertation as he gazes at her.

 

“No,” she finishes getting dressed and holds out her arms. “Take these off.”

 

Boxer glares at her, not moving. “What the fuck happened, Vegeta? I thought you wanted to terminate the pregnancy?”

 

“I did. I changed my mind,” she shakes her arms. “Now take them off so I can go train.”

 

“No! What the hell? Can’t you take a minute to talk to me? What happened?”

 

Vegeta lowers her arms and steps into his space. Meeting his gape steadily, she addresses him slowly, as if he were a child, and repeats herself.

 

“I. Changed. My. Mind.”

 

His look blackens in cold anger as he searches her face for a moment. Scoffing, Boxer shoves her away and she lets him, watching as he jerkily reaches into his lab coat pocket. The bracelets on her wrists unlock and she removes them, handing them over to the sulking man.

 

“Do not,” he snarls as he snatches them away, “come to me saying you changed your mind again.”

 

“Okay,” she nods. That was fair.

 

“Okay,” he snips and turns away, cleaning up the room. Vegeta silently watches him for a moment, hesitant as to whether or not she should say something, before she leaves the room silently and heads back to the gravity room.

 

* * *

 

It’s quiet in the kitchen when Vegeta goes to get a water bottle, but the presence she senses a mere ten feet away in the den has her making a viciously dour expression. Yamcha.

 

With Boxer, apparently.

 

They were probably doing that thing where they got back together after a fight. Vegeta honestly had no idea what they did or even why the two men did anything at all with each other, considering that half the time she’d been here they’d been broken up. She contemplates leaving through the backdoor and just levitating to her balcony to avoid any awkwardness, but she’s already inside and the inefficiency bothers her. Further, Scarface apparently hadn’t noticed her come in - his ki hadn’t fluctuated the way it normally does when he notices she’s around him.

 

Mind made up, Vegeta silently makes her way to the staircase, ghosting by the entrance of the living room as she does.

 

“So what, she just changed her mind?”

 

Vegeta pauses mid-step, curiosity getting the better of her. Apparently, instead of their usual melodramatic drivel, they were talking about her.

 

Interesting.

 

Ki suppressed to something that wouldn’t even rival that insipid black cat’s, Vegeta leans against the wall and slides down to the floor, ears tuned into the conversation going on just past the doorway she’s hidden behind. She doesn’t bother to think about why she’s eavesdropping in the first place. Recon is recon is recon - Boxer had completely frozen her out since she changed her mind. It was annoying, but it’s not like he wasn’t being as accommodating as he usually was. He still carried out any tasks she took to him, but his manner was...lackluster. As though she wasn’t even really there.

 

It was bothersome and she wanted to know why he did so.

 

She hears Yamcha scoff. “No offense, but that doesn’t sound like her. I honestly didn’t think that bitch could be concerned with the well-being of others.”

 

“Shut up. It’s not like you even really know her anyway, you never gave her a chance.”

 

“Because she’s a psychotic, murdering homewrecker! Boxer, sh-,” Scarface cuts himself off and Vegeta’s recently clenched fists loosen. “Boxer, you’re right. I never really gave her a chance. But if we’re going to be brutally honest, I think you’ve given her too many. How many times are you going to let her treat you like this?”

 

Boxer sighs in response and Vegeta doesn’t think she’s ever heard a more world-weary sound.

 

“It was her choice, Yamcha. Besides, I really didn’t think she’d ever want to go through the pregnancy, so I just sort of resigned myself to that. Then she flipped the script on me and I just...” the scientist trails off and silence reigns over the air awkwardly for a minute.

 

“Look, you want the kid, don’t you? I mean you were eyeing cradles and adoption agencies before we broke up.”

 

“Yes. But again: Vegeta’s body, Vegeta’s choice. Besides,” he adds bitterly, “It’s not like he was conceived under the best of circumstances.” Vegeta’s palms go clammy at the possibility that he might share the information about her rut.

 

“Tch. You’re never going to tell me the details of that are you?”

 

“No.” The spying Saiya-jin is surprised. She was sure that Boxer was going to bitch about how fucked up the situation was.

 

The two men are silent for a moment and then Yamcha asks. “It’s a boy?”

 

“Yeah,” Boxer replies, his voice subdued. “I noticed last time. He shouldn’t be far enough along to tell yet, but I guess Saiyans have a different gestation period? I don’t know, there isn’t enough info to compare.”

 

“Did you tell her? Maybe that’s why she changed her mind. Maybe she started to see him as a person rather than a personal inconvenience.”

 

Boxer chuckles darkly. “I think she’s just been in denial until now. I really don’t know. It’s not as if she really wanted me. Not the way I want her. Sorry, not trying to rub salt.”

 

“It’s fine. I’m not happy, but I’m not going to hit you again. So what’s the issue now? You know what you’re going to do?”

 

“No!” Vegeta hears a soft thump and can assume Boxer just threw himself on the floor. “That’s a big fucking problem too. Before it was clear, I wasn’t going to get to be a father, fine, at least I can make up for it to Vegeta, because I knew she wouldn’t want to be a mom. But now? Do I get myself ready for fatherhood? Does she even want me to help? Is she just going to kill him off in a different way? I’m stranded in the middle of the sea with no way to navigate myself out of this mess.”

 

“And you love her.”

 

Silence follows Yamcha’s declaration, this time uncomfortable and rife with unspoken apologies. Vegeta herself is left shocked at the blunt way the baseballer so blatantly declared that statement. And surely it was false? Boxer wanted her, but it wasn’t anything Vegeta wasn’t used to. A lot of men had wanted her, to break her and to claim some kind of ownership of her in someway - the vast majority had been rebuffed harshly.

 

Boxer groans, sounding pained. “Yamcha...”

 

“It’s fine. Like I said, I’m not likely to punch you again and I did come back wanting to be friends. I’m not even surprised, I saw it coming.”

 

“Yamcha, I don’t - I just...” Boxer flounders as he tries to come up with what to say. His ex scoffs.

 

“I might not be as smart as you, B, but I’m not dumb. You were never so eager to please me and I can’t recall any point where you looked at me the way you look at her, even though she’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

 

“That’s not true. I love you!” Boxer protests.

 

“Still?” Yamcha asks.

 

“Of course,” Boxer replies and Vegeta doesn’t recognize the feeling in her chest at his next words. “I’ll love you until I die.”

 

It’s quiet except for the sounds of shuffling bodies, and then Yamcha’s voice breaks the silence in soft intonation.

 

“More than her? Enough to leave her alone if I come back one hundred percent committed to you and giving you the family you want? You won’t look back on her and regret?”

 

Boxer is quiet and Yamcha lets out a bitter chuckle. “You see?” he sighs. “She got you somehow. That crazy bitch made you love her.”

 

Vegeta slips away to her room after that declaration. She stayed far too long anyway.

 

* * *

 

A black abyss, darkness enveloping her body. The sound of her own harsh breathing as she runs. A vortex, causing dizziness and bile to gather in her throat. Kakarott appears, his back to her and slowly he turns to face her, dead eyes meeting hers before he smirks. Mocking her and Vegeta screams his name in anger, rushing to attack him, but he disappears right before her foot can make contact with his smug face. Panting and frustrated, she turns to find the purple-haired future boy standing before her, startling her with his presence. Overwhelmed by her hatred, she leaps forward to punch him, but he too disappears before she can make contact. Angrily, she whirls around, looking, seeking, _seething_ , but then both men appear before her again, side by side, united as a golden aura radiates from them both and Vegeta has never felt so frightened or overcome. The brilliance blinds her and she tries to power up herself, to fight it, but her strength falls short as they both glow brighter, burn hotter, pushing her into the darkness and onto her back.

 

Tears well up as she tries to sit up again but her body is heavy, leaving her prostrated, arms spread as she peers up...at her naked self.

 

This other her smiles wickedly down at Vegeta’s prone figure, taking the hard length of cock into her body as she straddles Vegeta’s elongated form. Slowly, she undulates her hips and pleasure rips through Vegeta’s body, despite the pressure holding her in place. Looking around, Vegeta makes out the familiar structure of the large gravity room she’d spent her rut.

 

“You’re pathetic,” other Vegeta laughs and Vegeta’s eyes snap back to her. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen herself this way, so unburdened and happy. “Completely at my mercy. What if I decide to kill you?”

 

Her other self leans down, brushing her nose just below her ear and breathing out. A warm surge of emotion rushes through Vegeta, and it’s all unrecognizable, painful but not unpleasant. She gazes up at the bared Vegeta who sat on her lap like it was her throne, so relaxed and at ease and voracious, and Vegeta hungers with an appetite whetted on lust and affection for her.

 

“I’ll probably die happy,” Vegeta responds to the other version of herself and her voice is not her own. It’s deep and familiar, the cadence of the sentence fostering a sense of deja vu in her mind. Vegeta circles her hips again and clasps a heated ear in between her teeth before running a soothing tongue over the sting. Her breath is warm and intensifies the ecstasy traveling through Vegeta’s nerves when she whispers in her ear.

 

“Want to play a game with me, Boxer?”

 

Sweat clings to Vegeta’s brow when her eyes fly open and she rolls over with a long groan, trying to catch her breath as the pleasurable surge of her orgasm sends her muscles into an excited state. Taking deep breaths, the woman tries to calm down, resisting the urge to reach down and touch herself, to prolong the luxurious feeling slowly fleeing her body. The bite on her neck throbs fiercely, leaving her shivering in the wake of ecstasy and agony.

 

A dream. A nightmare?

 

Exhaling roughly through her nose, Vegeta sits and runs a hand through her short, spiky hair, gritting her teeth against the angry flare of pain the movement jostles from her bite. She takes a glance at the clock on the nightstand - 2:13 A.M. - and then at the calendar next to it, marking off the days as they approach two different circled dates. Reaching down, Vegeta rubs a hand over her belly, now holding a firmness that is different from its usual kind. She hasn’t ‘popped’ yet, as the books she’s read say she will, but she can feel and see the differences in her body more and more as each day passes.

 

She hates it.

 

Despite knowing that it was her choice to keep on with the pregnancy, she can’t help but feel resentful at times. Like when she has to readjust her entire training schedule and spend precious time that could be used working out or sleeping or eating to research what to expect as she fosters this parasite. Or the time she wastes doing medical check ups with the doctor Boxer signed to confidentiality with lots of money and the threat of total discreditation for noncompliance. Or the time she spends fretting in front of a mirror, watching her body transform and feeling for the healthy glow of her son’s ki with her own, like some sort of vapid, instinctive beast.

 

And yet...she scoffs and stands up, heading to the door. It’s still too early to go do any real work for the day, but she could go get a snack and wander around a bit until the fatigue of pregnancy and hard training overcomes her. She grabs a large container of sliced strawberries from the fridge and pours a fair amount chocolate sauce in it from a new bottle. The concoction is usually Boxer’s go-to, something she knows because she’s seen him eat it numerous times and she relishes the thought of depriving him of it - again - when her fork pierces through the first berry.

 

Pettiness tastes delicious, and her mood lifts as she walks around the Briefs’ large estate. The house is nice, nothing at all like the cramped barracks she was used to in space. The only places she can think of that could rival it were her childhood home and the castle that the Ice-jin prince who once owned her would spirit her off to whenever the mood struck him. Biting through the hard shell of chocolate at the unwarranted thought, Vegeta’s attention is caught by the light spilling out of a door left ajar at the end of the hallway and Vegeta goes forward to investigate.

 

She finds Boxer sitting at a desk, typing away at a computer, a large stream of numbers and words flying across the screen in front of him. A decanter of brown liquor and a crystal tumbler half filled with the same stuff sit on a tray next to him. The Saiya-jin approaches him quietly, still eating his chocolate strawberries and intending to scare the shit out of him.

 

To her surprise though, he turns around to face her, eyes immediately drawn to the container in her arms and the fork in her mouth. He scowls.

 

“Are you the reason those keep missing?” Vegeta can smell the alcohol on his breath, but the scientist doesn’t appear to be drunk. His words were coherent and not slurred, at least.

 

It’s the first full sentence he’s said to her since the day in the clinic and Vegeta has no other response except for shoving another berry in her mouth.

 

His scowl darkens and Vegeta has to bite back her grin. In a small effort to be cordial, she places the container on his desk by the alcohol, pushing it towards him, and then takes a step back, looking him over. He looks bad, for him, tired and grumpy like a frazzled feline. The scientist and the alien gaze at each other until Boxer reaches out for the container and starts to eat them, turning away and effectively shunning her. Vegeta feels a bit disappointed at the mechanical dismissal of her presence and a rebellious spirit flares within her. She snatches the container back in flare of belligerence.

 

It shocks her when he suddenly rises and whirls to face her, smacking the sweet treat right out of her hands, unmindful of its destination as he glowers down at her.

 

Reflexively, Vegeta’s ki rises and her hand shoots out automatically to hit him. Her arms lock just a breath away from his chest, palm flat. She can feel Boxer’s heart beating under her checked blow and watches him as he looks from her face to her hand on his chest and back. She pulls back on her ki, hoping to take the sudden tension between them with it. He licks his lips before he speaks, voice low.

 

“What the hell do you want, Vegeta, hm? _You_ came in here to bother _me_.”

 

Shame and resentment warm Vegeta’s throat, settling lower into her belly as she tries to come up with an answer. Why did she come in here?

 

The small woman lowers her arm and shrugs.

 

“I was bored and curious,” she replies. “Not that I need to explain myself to you.” She tries to keep her tone light and nonchalant, but it falls flat to her own ears, so surely Boxer must not be fooled.

 

He isn’t.

 

“Who else would be in here?” the heir snaps. “The fucking tooth fairy?”

 

The Saiya-jin scowls. “Some kind of fairy,” she scoffs and begins to turn away. Boxer grabs her arm and, gently as could in his mood, swings her around so that the curve of her bottom hits his desk, rocking the decanter. She lets him, fighting back her rising temper, lest she starts to fight back against him and accidently kill him. The odd pair glare at each other, chests rising raggedly when Boxer moves forward and cages her in with his body. Her neck aches distantly, and she wonders if his is flaring in agitation as well, if his body cries out to lessen the proximity between them as hers does.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he growls.

 

Vegeta tilts her head and blinks in mock vapidness. “What do you mean?” she asks sweetly. “I don’t understand, I’m not from around here.”

 

He snorts and smiles, unamused by her antics, his head falling forward as he shakes it in building frustration. “What did you mean, Vegeta?” he peers up at her, his eyes level with her chin from the way he’s slumped over.

 

“Scarface is back, right? I’m sure the two of you are off constantly doing perverted shit together.”

 

Boxer stares at her, his brow crumbled with disconcertation. “What? Since when has that bothered you?” he dismisses. She averts her gaze from his.

 

“It doesn’t. I was just annoyed with you,” she grouses. Vegeta withdraws into herself, pulling her body inward. She wants to leave and be away from the blue-haired man at this point and his continued scrutiny makes her uncomfortable in the wake of her dying ire.

 

“Bah, whatever,” she huffs. “I’m leaving.”

 

Grabbing at his forearm, Vegeta moves it out of the way in preparation to leave, but is unprepared when Boxer uses the movement to cup her chin with the same arm. He turns her face, tilts her head just so, and then his lips collide gently with hers.

 

Anger and lust swarm Vegeta. Her body betrays her, responding to his touch immediately, hungrily, turning to him, arms and legs wrapping around him like a vine when he pushes her further onto the desk.

 

Encouraged by her enthusiasm, Boxer bites her bottom lip, then sucks the blood from the broken skin, and Vegeta moans at the exquisite shiver the sharp pain sends down her back. His hot mouth departs from hers, their breaths mingling briefly before he pecks her mouth softly, once, twice, a dozen times. The gentleness contrasts sharply to the rough treatment of before and it leaves Vegeta unsure and wanting.

 

His lips begin to skim her chin and jaw in a flurry of kisses and he cradles the back of her head, holding her steady. The tempo of the pecks slow, become sensual. He buries his nose in her hair while he nibbles on her earlobe. Vegeta tips her head back, making space for him and granting him access to her vulnerability.

 

A warm thumb rubs circles on the bite on her neck, sending an impulse through her that settles in her rattled chest and seeded womb and damp loins. Vegeta’s whole body is combusting and she grips the scientist by his teal locks, tugging him closer so that she would not burn alone.

 

Warm and teasing, his voice whispers in the skin of her neck unbidden.

 

“You’re jealous.”

 

The phrase is a parasitic earworm. The warrior finds her eyes spring open, unaware of when they shut as she gazes up into the man who has moved so that his face is mere centimeters from hers. She licks her bloody lips and his eyes are entranced by the movement. Ignoring the lust altering her judgement, the alien narrows her eyes and studies him. The heat from his hands from her neck along her arms until he is loosely gripping her wrists and Vegeta must wonder if he knows what his body language insinuates.

 

“What?” she inquires.

 

“You said you didn’t understand. About the fairy comment,” he looks down, suddenly shy. “You’re jealous. And trying to push me away so you can deny it. It’s why you’re being mean.”

 

The alien woman scoffs. “Jealous? What reason would I have to be jealous of you?”

 

A small, nervous smile tilts his mouth. Cyan eyes peer up at her through dark lashes. His grip tightens around her wrists and he unwraps her arms from around his neck - and Vegeta only now realizes he is still caged by her limbs - to bring her bare hands between them. Fascinated, Vegeta watches him skim his lips along her digits, kissing the back of each hand tenderly.

 

Her face is crumpled in confusion when he finally looks back at her. The alien can smell his apprehension and his pulse drums a rapid tempo under his skin - his bodily reactions leave her bewildered.

 

“I know you’re not jealous _of me_ ,” he starts. “But I do think you’re jealous of anyone who has my attention.”

 

He brings his head up and holds her gaze steadily. For the first time that night, Vegeta takes in the tired lines that mar his perfect face and it occurs to her that he is as tired as she is.

 

“I can’t sleep,” he murmurs. “It used to be sporadic, a few times a week, but now it’s everytime I fall asleep; I dream these scenarios that I know I’m plucking right out of your head.”

 

Vegeta begins to shake her head, pulling her hands from his grasp. “No,” she denies. She continues to shake her head when Boxer cups her cheeks and leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead. He pulls her into him, his large hand crowning her head as her face is pressed to his chest, the scent of pine soap and engine oil and Boxer clinging to her olfactory nerves. Vegeta cannot find the strength to push him away.

 

“I want to know these things about you, but I want it to be because you told me.”

 

“No,” she snarls into the fabric of his sweater.

 

“I wanted you to need me, I went to you when I knew I shouldn’t have because I wanted you to know you could rely on me.”

 

“No!” The alien still cannot move away.

 

“I’m so sorry, Princess. I wanted you, all this time. All of you. And I hate how it happened, but I’m not sorry that it did.”

 

“No!” she howls and flings him to the ground.

 

“No, no, no,” she rages, like a child, her aura flickering about her wildly. Glaring down at the man who calmly watches her tantrum, she grabs the crystal decanter and throws it down to the floor mere inches from him. He flinches, the eye closest to the breakage winking shut tightly. A shard must reach him, for a thin line of red appears on his cheek.

 

Boxer stares up at Vegeta as she wails.

 

“I don’t _want_ this. I don’t want you, I don’t need you, fuck off!” she shouts. “I don’t care about your stupid little wishes, I don’t care about your childhood adventures, I don’t care about that fucking Namekian or how stupid Kakarott looked as yearling. Leave me _alone!_ ”

 

Bitter tears sting her eyes and she is furious, wanting badly to break something. Vegeta stalks towards Boxer and, before he can move away, she grips his arm tightly. He hisses in pain and squirms a little, trying to maneuver the limb from her, but she squeezes harder until a creaking can be heard and Boxer freezes.

 

“Vegeta,” he pleads softly. “Let me go.”

 

“Why? Why should I? You did this to me! YOU ruined me! I should kill you!”

 

“I know,” he responds gravely. “I can’t change that. But please let go.”

 

She glowers, teeth bared at him, but he only cups her neck with his free hand. Vegeta wants to snap his fingers off when their tips smooth over his bite decorating her throat. Instead, her hand begins to blister his captive limb, but despite his wince, he continues to gaze at her steadily. She cannot comprehend the meaning or weight behind the look. The alien only understands that it is heady and tender and possessive in a way both like and unlike Frieza.

 

“It’s these,” he murmurs. “They’re messing us up. We aren’t supposed to be like this.”

 

It’s exactly the same thought she’s had before. The Saiya-jin princess flings his arm away in disgust at the evidence of how he festers inside her head.

 

“I know,” she snaps. “You were just supposed to be some mildly entertaining Chikyuu-jin who followed my orders.”

 

He grins.

 

“Whatever you wish, I’ll grant it.”

 

“Stop,” she doesn’t know what she means, but he does and his look turns sad.

 

“Except that. I can’t give you that.”

 

She pulls away from him and he takes advantage of the space to rise to his full height. She kicks the discarded container of dessert fruit.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I don’t know how.”

 

She side-eyes him, a cruel smirk on her lips. “Aren’t you a genius?”

 

He scoffs, self-depreciative. “Apparently not.”

 

They are quiet for a moment and then Boxer exhales loudly.

 

“I love you.”

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

“I want the baby.”

 

“I’m incubating it, aren’t I?” The waspish reply makes Boxer smile lightly.

 

“I want you.”

 

She shakes her head. “You’re no different at all.”

 

The scientist breaches the gap between them, hesitantly reaching out. He hugs her when she makes no move to attack him. His pale skin is battered where she’d grabbed him, but he shows no fear when he invades her space. His apology and his affection are found in the way he holds her.

 

She closes her eyes, relishes in the warmth he radiates. How odd. She could kill him with a careless blink, but being encircled in his arms make her feel like she is safe within a fortress. Ridiculous.

 

Finally, she gives him her offer. “I’m going to leave after. I’ll only return to fight the androids. Not for any other reason,” she warns.

 

Boxer’s quiet, digesting her words. He peers down at her.

 

“And until then?” his tone is cautious, but hopeful. Almost a full minute of silence passes before she tilts her head back, catching his eye.

 

“I’ll want you back.”

 

And she reaches up, pulling him down to her height. Their kiss tastes like candied berries and bloody almosts.

 

At her acceptance of his affections, Boxer crashes on her like tsunami, clearing the large surface of his desk to lay her back on it. He crawls over her, his kisses turning hungry and savage when she meets him blow for endearing blow. He licks her lips for permission, so she swarms his mouth her tongue. His fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her head back so he could plunder her mouth and her hands tug at the front of his sweats, breaking the drawstring so that the waistband is loose enough for Vegeta to wrap her hands around his penis.

 

With a moan, Boxer unlatches himself from her mouth, dragging his head to rest against her chest. Sliding one of his hands under her shirt, he gently traces the curve of her breast as he watches her jerk him roughly. If it hurts, he gives no indication, instead rubbing his head up her shoulder like a cat, until he rests his chin next to the bite he’d left on her flesh months ago. He mouths at the mark.

 

“How do these work?” he mumbles. His voice is becoming the sleepy, sinful growl that made her wild the last time they were like this. He regards her with half-mast eyes. “Mine won’t heal either.”

 

Her hands tighten briefly at the mention of the bite she’d given him and his hand goes to cover hers as he nips at her clavicle in rebuke. The scrape makes her gasp lightly, their fingers entwining as he helps her stroke him to full mass.

 

“Fondness between comrades sharing a rut,” she volunteers lowly. “I don’t really know how it works, I was never all that invested.”

 

“Of course not,” he smirks against her. He jerks her towards him so that their cores align and pulls their tangled hands from his trousers. He begins to thrust  against her, sliding her shirt up over her breasts with his freed hand.

 

“Fondness, huh?” he murmurs. He presses a kiss to a rapidly pebbling nipple below him. Vegeta cards her hands through his hair, tan, scarred fingers entangling silky, sky locks. Her nails scrape his scalp when he sucks on mouthful of her breast, and he must like it because he moans around the mound and grinds his erection against her harder.

 

Vegeta feels the apex of her thighs slicken with the want she has for this man. Her legs wrap around him, guiding his thrusts so that each one sent a jolt of pleasure through her clit. Leaning her head back so that it fell off the edge of the desk, she can feel her body clenching up with warm euphoria, finally releasing when Boxer lightly grasps her neck and scrapes her sensitive nipple with his teeth. Vegeta bites her already bloody lip when she comes, but kisses him back eagerly when he moves to capture her mouth with his.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters into her mouth, his breath mingling with hers. Vegeta wonders as she breathes in, how much of him she ingests when they do this, how much of him is already in her, swelling and consuming all that constructs her as it grows. They separate long enough to shed their clothes, his naked form kneeling between her splayed thighs.

 

Boxer rubs himself against her, coating his dick with the residue of her orgasm. Vegeta can smell his precome mingling with her juice, grows wetter because of it, and wetter still when he growls at the slickness. The tip of him breaches her and he circles it slightly before pulling out. The hand not holding his cock steady moves to thumb at her clit. Vegeta hisses when he breaches her again, a little more than just the tip and she clenches around him tightly, making him hiss as well.

 

“Fuck,” he repeats. “Princess.”

 

He pulls almost all the way out, then slams into her roughly, pushing her up the desk and Vegeta almost laughs in relief. The Saiya-jin reaches for him, pulling his lips to hers so that she could taste his hunger for her. She wraps around him again, legs and arms holding him close while he fucks her almost violently, but when she feels herself began to squeeze too tightly, she pulls away.

 

The scientist takes advantage of her retreat, drawing back and enticing her onto her belly. Cheek and chest and knees pressed to the hard wood of the desk, Vegeta nearly splinters it when he shoves back into her moist passage. He leans over her, hips snapping sharply against her ass and Vegeta pushes back, needing to feel him, needing to have him, own him. It’s a power, unused and new to her, that she has over him and the delicious sting it carries comes with how it reflects the power he has over her.

 

Angling her head, the Saiya-jin pulls him into another kiss, biting his lips so that the coppery taste of his blood mingles with hers. With a grunt, the blue-haired man slides his right hand under her torso, gripping her bitten shoulder so that his thumb is pressing hard against the mar. He kisses her back aggressively, tongue battling hers in a bloody scrimmage, yanking her body closer by the hold he has on her and fucking her so hard the desk shakes.

 

Pleasure builds upon itself and rises like a heavy tide in Vegeta’s body and she adjusts slightly, bracing herself at an angle that has him pounding against the spot between her G-spot and cervix. It hurts, but in a way she craves. Toes curling, the princess meets his heavy, angry thrusts with ones of her own, her pleading cries taking the form of his name when she breaks their kiss. Heavy-lidded blue eyes stare down at her face, taking in and memorizing her pleasure, before clenching shut.

 

And then, in a burst, warmth coats her insides as she shudders, her orgasm overcoming her at the same time his does. Boxer presses his sweaty chest to her back, not quite collapsing on her and Vegeta can feel his heart thudding against her shoulder blade. He presses his mouth into her hair, not quite kissing her and breathes in her scent. The pain that always radiated from the bite she had has subsided and, as little as she understands about mating pacts, she knows that the next time she looks it will finally be scarred over.

 

She knows his will be the same.

 

* * *

 

Boxer is more tolerable in their interactions now that she’s given to temptation and fallen into this travesty with him. She moves back into the house he’d built for her and each night, he takes her to bed as though he hadn’t been building the ship for her departure earlier in the day. He is content in this temporary relationship, doing his best to keep himself preoccupied by her affection.

 

The warrior princess is less idealistic, keeping a sharp eye on her schedule, grading each passing day by how productive it was. They seem to fly by the closer she draws to her ‘due date’. She accommodates Boxer’s wishes for her to see a physician, and even takes the supplements he supplies, understanding his worry that they might have harmed the child in some way when they’d attempted aborting.

 

She says nothing and doesn’t help him when he happily begins to put together a reinforced nursery in his home, only half-listening to his design plans and offering listless sounds of agreement whenever he asked her opinion. Unaffected by her apathy, he continues to nest, and Vegeta finds it highly bizarre that he feels such a strong drive to do so when she mostly just wants proprietorship of her body back.

 

The two of them are an odd pair.

 

Sometimes, Vegeta thinks he wants her to be as excited as he is, feels his frustration when he fucks her like he can make her feel what he does if he can just slam into her hard enough, long enough. He ties her up, uses the ki suppressors on her, he blindfolds her, doing whatever he can to hide her ability to easily leave. He comes inside her more often, like he wants to seed her again, like he’s desperate to inject something of himself into her. Other times, he’s tender and sensuous, trying to gentle love out of her. Vegeta would feel bad for him if his desperation didn’t smother her.

 

She wants him. She won’t bother denying that. But anything else of the confusing myriad he stirs in her, she refuses to touch. It changes nothing of her plans; she’s still leaving, she’s still going to return only to defeat the androids and Kakarott, and she’s still going to conquer this planet and take back her power from the PTO. There’s no time for sweet kisses and rocking chairs in her future.

 

The scientist is just too stubborn and spoiled to see that.

 

* * *

 

Giving birth hurts a lot more than Vegeta expected it to and even with the incredibly strong painkillers streaming through her body, Vegeta can just barely hold back the scream threatening to claw itself out of her throat. Teeth grinding from the force of her clenched jaw, the woman’s vision goes spotty as she bears down on her lower body, clenching her stomach and pushing for all that she’s worth.

 

“That’s it,” the doctor speaks up, “Just a little more, he’s crowned. Get his shoulders out and you’re done, little lady.”

 

Resisting the urge to kick him in the face, Vegeta throws her head back and squeezes the railing of her bed tightly, the metal warping under the force. Vegeta can hear Boxer’s voice as he encourages her to push and she wants to snap out that she is fucking pushing, dumbshit asshole, except she thinks if she opens her mouth nothing aside from a bloodcurdling shriek will come out.

 

A bloodcurdling shriek _does_ ring out and for a moment, Vegeta thinks she might have failed in her goal not to make a single sound during her childbirth, but then she notices Boxer has moved down by the doctor and is cradling something bloody and wet in his arms. A slimy, fluid-covered tail wraps around the man’s forearm and he seems entranced, cooing down at the wailing baby as the doctor, nonplussed by newborn’s unusual fifth limb, concerns himself with the afterbirth. Vegeta let’s her body relax, deciding to give the obstetrician five minutes to finish before she did kick him in his face. _Little lady,_ she thinks. Fucker. Eyes closed, she listens in as Boxer and the lone nurse wash off the squalling brat, the scientist’s deep voice murmuring comforts all the while.

 

It’s done. Time’s up.

 

Vegeta must have fallen asleep, because she opens her eyes to find herself in a different room, in a regular bed, a clear polymer crib by her bedside and Boxer sleeping in a chair within arms reach of them both. She stares at the man for a moment, his handsome face peaceful in slumber and then drags her gaze to the small frame in the crib. His brown tail curls lackadaisically, fist clenched in his sleep. Unlike his father, her son looks angry, pouting gruffly as he naps away his first few hours of life. Her lips twitch in a small grin as she takes in his scowling mug, so obviously like her in this respect.

 

Quietly, the Saiya-jin princess stands up and pauses to take stock of her body. She is sore, her back and lower body all aching for reprieve, but she stretches lightly and carefully moves between Boxer and her son, eyes flicking back to the scientist to make sure he was still asleep. Confirming that he was, she focus on the sleeping baby, drinking in his appearance unwaveringly before reaching down to lift him up.

 

He’s so light. His lack of substance makes Vegeta nervous of her own potent strength. As gently as she can, she adjusts him so he is more secure, but the movement jostles him causing him to mewl out quietly.

 

Shit.

 

Panicked, Vegeta guides him to the low neckline of her gown, shrugging it out of the way so she can pop her nipple in his mouth and hopefully muffling his cries before they roused Boxer. Thankfully, it works. The boy shuffles around in her arms for a bit before gripping the front of her gown tightly and suckling greedily at her breast, and Vegeta has to chuckle softly at how unequivocally _Saiya-jin_ that is.

 

She lets her son feed without protest, deciding that this is one other small thing she will do for him before she leaves him to his father for good. As for the other things she will do for him…

 

Rubbing at his lower back, she sends a small, soothing flood of ki through her fingertips to the base of his spine, numbing the area, before gently sautering off his tail with a heated blade of ki. The small, furred limb falls to the ground and she eviscerates it, catching her son’s limpid blue gaze once the act is over. He watches her intensely through a sleep-heavy stare and Vegeta tells herself that she is being paranoid about his judgement.

 

“That’s sad,” Boxer’s low voice rumbles from behind her. “I thought Trunks’ tail was cute.”

 

She turns to face the new father. He’s watching her oddly, much more sharp-eyed than he should be. Vegeta suddenly feels awkward, being watched so intently by the two males. Turning away from Boxer, she shrugs, uncomfortable with his scrutiny and wishing that the brat - Trunks - would finish so she could cover up, despite the numerous times Boxer has seen her in various states of undress by now.

 

“I won’t be here around for the next full moon, so that was just in case he happens to look at it.”

 

Boxer is silent after her declaration and then Vegeta can sense him moving, coming to stand behind her, arms slipping around her form. His head rests on top of hers and she scowls momentarily at the invasion of her space until she notices the way he trembles and his breath hitches. She’s uncomfortable, standing there in his embrace while breast-feeding, the entire scene feeling like some bizarre alteration to reality. This isn’t what she’s made for; Vegeta was born of the blood of fallen enemies and the spirit of battlefields. She’s meant to be a warrior, not a mother and this little slice of domesticity makes her feel like a con artist.

 

Still, she lets Boxer take his comfort from treating her like some stuffed animal and lets Trunks take his fill despite how greatly she wanted to suddenly fling them both away due to the sheer sense of wrongness of it all. She lets Boxer guide her back to the bed, where she sits, propped up by pillows and holding her son while Boxer lies beside her, arm thrown casually over her lap so he can stroke both of his loves. Reclined, Vegeta tries to relax into the moment.

 

Finally, Trunks unlatches and, sensing her uncertainty, Boxer takes him, holding him so that the baby’s head was propped on his shoulder and patting gently at the boy’s back. He watches her as he does so, knowing eyes on her frame while she readjusts her gown.

 

“When will you go?”

 

She shrugs at the question. “Soon,” she replies. “As soon as I’m able.”

 

“Will you keep in contact?”

 

Vegeta is silent for a moment, looking away. These past few months haven’t been all awful and, aside from sex, the two have rekindled their friendship to where it once was, and she had been tolerant of his digging before. At the very least, she could be available if he had questions about Trunks. She nods.

 

“I doubt you’ll be able to handle the brat.”

 

Boxer snickers quietly. “I handle you.”

 

She shoves him lightly, careful not jostle the sleeping bundle in his arms.

 

“Take him. Go sleep,” she orders. “I’m tired of looking at your ugly face.”

 

Scoffing in arrogant disbelief, Boxer rises carefully, stroking Trunks’ back to keep him calm. “I’m the sexiest person you’ve ever met, Vegeta. And the smartest. This guy lucked out getting my genes,” he shoots back at her when he exits.

 

Rolling her eyes, Vegeta lies back down. She should catch a few hours of rest before she leaves, so that her mind is sharp when she leaves. The Saiya-jin puts herself to sleep, running through a mental checklist, counting off the supplies the ship was stocked with, from fuel to food and reminding herself to check the built in GR when she rises.

 

In a few hours, before even the sun wakes, Vegeta is up and changed into a recreated jumpsuit and armor, preparing to leave. She has to finish her training in space, away from all the distractions here that were making her go soft. She needs to go back to how she was, craves it now that her reprieve is over. The alien doesn’t bother to check on the only two men in her life she actually likes, sensing their sleeping kis coming from the compound - she’ll be back anyway, she thinks with a savage grin.

 

There’s a big fight on the horizon.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lisbeth Salander is the main character from The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo series.
> 
> If you don't know who Tony Stark is, think about your life and think about your choices.
> 
> Fatal Attraction is a movie about a married man whose one night stand leads to the woman stalking him and his family. Given Boxer's actions, I thought it would be ironic to make him watch a movie about a man's cheating having adverse effects.
> 
> This work is without a beta, all mistakes are my own. Please let me know if you find any. Also, first time writing smut, how'd I do?


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